Avenue of the Artisans

Can an ambitious tribe of artists and tradespeople turn a depressed stretch of Frankford Avenue into a cultural mecca?

by Gwen Shaffer

		Christopher Johansen is working to attract tradespeople to the Avenue

Kevin Phelan still vividly recalls the magic of that muggy evening last summer in Northeast Philly. He was swaying to the smooth sounds of a classical brass quartet performing on a gravel lot, adjacent to Frankford Avenue. Looking around at the few neighbors who turned out for the performance, Phelan was surprised to see that everyone in the audience was, like himself, white and middle class – an uncharacteristically homogenous bunch for the Frankford neighborhood.

Just then, three small African-American toddlers tentatively peeked out the window of their second story rowhouse, which overlooked the makeshift stage. With the exception of the disposable diapers fastened around their waists, they were naked. Apparently, the children liked what they heard. They boldly dangled their little heads and arms out the window, clapping and swinging to the beat for the remainder of the concert.

At the same time, back on street level, a group of Latino teenagers happened to be roaming Frankford Avenue, searching for something to do. They heard the music and paused to listen. But just for a moment. Not more than a few minutes could have gone by, when Phelan noticed the same group of teens passing down the avenue again. Just as before, they paused briefly to listen but ultimately kept walking.

Except that the next time Phelan turned around to people-watch, the teenagers had joined the crowd and were standing immediately behind him. As the music wafted through the air, the teens danced in place. They were smiling.

		With its abundance of large buildings—combined with the added incentive of financing assistance from the Community Development Corporation—artisans can cheaply live, work and sell all in the same space. “There are no other places like that in the city,” Phelan says.

This mix of ethnic diversity and aesthetic awareness, Phelan says, is what makes Frankford unique. One of the first communities in Pennsylvania to allow African Americans to buy land, it has also been home to skilled tradesmen and artisans ever since its settlement by Swedes in the 1660s. He believes the community’s historical ties to the arts are among its strongest assets.

Strolling down Frankford Avenue these days you are more likely to encounter firearms than fine arts. On a typical afternoon, the street is lined with storefronts advertising cheap sneakers, VCRs, nailwraps and hubcaps. Nearly half of the businesses are closed.

The air is filled with the near-deafening combination of noises generated by bumper-to-bumper traffic, rumbling trains and screeching kids recently liberated from their classrooms.

But Phelan believes there is also a charming and creative side of Frankford, just waiting to be reclaimed. And he’s putting his money—and everything else in his life—where his dreams are, by planting the seeds of a full-fledged artisan community along the avenue.

Six months ago, he packed up and left his safe harbor in Philadelphia’s Winchester Park neighborhood and moved into a house that had not been occupied for 55 years. Now, he and his 8-year-old daughter, Brittany, are the only people living directly on Frankford Avenue for at least a three or four block span.

Phelan, who designs sets for WPVI-TV, is, like most artists, a visionary. “I am the type of person who loves to take on big projects and see them through to the end,” says Phelan, a warm, eccentric man with wispy graying-brown hair and a goatee.

		“Come closing time, we used to shut the gates to our shop and drive back to our nice houses in the suburbs. We were part of the problem,” he acknowledges. “Now, we stick around for the community meetings and try to do something positive.”

And one would definitely need to be forward-thinking to take on the challenge of making Phelan’s home livable. Since obtaining the property for the mere price of closing costs, he has invested about $30,000 in the house—and he did all the demolition and construction himself.

He still has two floors to go.

While Phelan may be the bravest pioneer so far, he’s banking on the fact that others will follow.

Phelan is just one of a group of artisans—artists and skilled tradespeople—who have faith that they can revitalize the avenue through their unique talents. It is clear that, strictly as a shopping destination, Frankford Avenue’s 13-block retail district (also known as Main Street) can’t compete with the free parking and controlled temperatures that draw people to malls in droves.

But the community can offer a product, a character and an ambiance that Philadelphians won’t find anywhere else.

Christopher Johansen was hired to study the feasibility of attracting new businesses to Main Street by Frankford Group Ministry’s Community Development Corporation (CDC), a quasi-public agency that bills itself as “the second largest developer of affordable housing in the city.” He discovered there were more skilled tradeworkers in the 19124 zip code than almost any other profession. “I decided this could be a way for Frankford to distinguish itself from other parts of Philadelphia,” Johansen says.

Already, five skilled trade specialty shops—including a reupholstery shop, a store that restores 17th- and 18th-century furniture, an antique light fixture repair shop, and a bathtub refinisher—are working to market their businesses together. By advertising their crafts as a group and referring customers to one another, these shopkeepers believe they can foster a sustainable artisan community.

“In order to spur a renaissance,” Phelan says, “the avenue has to carve out a niche for itself.”

Yes, he is talking about a renaissance on a street where the Elevated track blocks out the sun with its broad shadow. Where the piercing squeals and reverberating rumble of passing trains force voices to rise several decibels every few minutes. Where merchants don’t feel safe staying open past dusk. Where locals hang out on the corner, puffing joints in the middle of the day.

“There is a massive market for specialty skills right now,” Johansen says, pointing to aging baby boomers who have just reached their highest earning potential and are left with empty nests. “They have lots of disposable income and they are going to invest lots in their homes over the next 15 years.”

But in order to successfully bring the strip back, not only does it need to offer a product or service that no other area of the city is able to provide, but it must keep dollars in Frankford. Community organizers don’t want business owners shuttering up their shops at 6 p.m. each evening, driving back to their suburban homes, and spending profits there.

And that is the second link in the chain.

With its abundance of large buildings—combined with the added incentive of financing assistance from the CDC—artisans can cheaply live, work and sell all in the same space. “There are no other places like that in the city,” Phelan says.

The CDC is pitching its envisioned Frankford Avenue studio/living spaces as perfect for the starving but talented artisan. “If you have the right mix of skills and customers, but no money, we would still say to come,” Johansen says.

		“It definitely has enough pride and identity to come back,” says local potter Frank Hohenstein. “And the fact that this movement is getting started by artists already in the area helps—there’s a built-in support system.”

Real estate along Frankford Avenue has bottomed out. Only 60 percent of the storefronts are currently occupied by renters, but the remaining spaces are too small to attract the interest of major retailers. Many have been vacant for years. In some cases, the owners are guilty of tax delinquency, while others can’t be tracked down at all. The CDC has triumphed in getting property owners to hand over their buildings for next to nothing. In two cases, landlords donated buildings outright to Johansen’s organization.

Attracting more skilled tradespeople should not be too much of a challenge, Phelan says, because of the abundance of large, cheap spaces along Frankford’s Main Street. With 40 percent of the avenue’s 600 stores unoccupied, some of these 19th-century rowhouses are practically being given away.

Many of the three-story rowhouses now available range in size from 2,500 to 7,000 square feet. Entire buildings are being sold for as little as $20,000.

The Historical Society of Frankford may hold the most insight into the area’s long tradition as a homestead for artisans. One morning earlier this month, several community activists met there against a backdrop of glass display cases filled with century-old stoneware, paintings and tapestries.

More money is spent on restoration in Philadelphia than any other city in the country, according to Diane Sadler, the Historical Society’s curator. If you are looking for a specific shade for an antique lamp or ornate feet to retrofit an old bathtub, Frankford may be the only place in town where these items can be found. “It can be very difficult to find people who know how to fix this stuff,” Sadler says.

“But these services exist in Frankford,” Johansen chimes in. “There are people here who know how to redo floors and cabinets.”

And, as Phelan—the artist—reminds his cohorts, skilled trades all directly relate to art.

“Once folks redo their homes, they need to decorate… hang paintings. They will be able to buy them right here on the avenue.”

Experts in Philadelphia’s historical community have also cast a vote of confidence for the Frankford experiment.

“Particularly with the economy so strong now, there is a lot of restoration going on,” agrees Elise Vider, director of communications for the Preservation Alliance. “So many pieces of the puzzle are falling into place. It is clearly an up-and-coming area.”

At the turn of the century, the typical Frankford artisan lived and worked in the same building. Sadler would like to see a return to this way of life. “First, residents have expressed an interest in restoring Main Street. But they also want to see it look the way they remember it.”

Sadler and others are working diligently to restore the avenue’s original appearance. For example, a facades committee hopes to tear down the tacky vinyl siding now masking gorgeous leaded glass windows and other architectural gems. The committee is also encouraging merchants to replace their ugly metal gates with high-quality alarm systems. Through new sidewalks, uniform hanging signs and cleaning efforts, the avenue can resemble its old self again, Sadler says.

“We are very fortunate to have people around with wonderful memories of Frankford,” she says. “They give us something to aim for.”

While more money is needed, a small fortune has already been poured into the entire Frankford Avenue neighborhood.

The CDC is administered by Frankford Group Ministry (the social service branch of area United Methodist Churches), and is one of six sites in the country recently chosen to participate in the Main Street Program of the National Trust for Historic Preservation. This initiative designated Frankford as a model community, one with the potential to revitalize itself. Two hundred thousand dollars in Main Street Program funding has been used for retail development, new business supports and design improvements along Frankford Avenue.

In 1993, a coalition of 60 Frankford organizations and businesses joined forces to create “The Frankford Plan.” Detailing a 50-point strategy, this ambitious blueprint lays out steps to make the Frankford community thrive again—such as improving the health of its residents, creating affordable housing, providing job training classes and forming youth mentoring programs. With assistance from two organizers funded by the Mayor’s Office of Community Service and $400,000 in city funding for capital improvements, Frankford has successfully implemented more than 75 percent of its plan.

“We realize Frankford Avenue didn’t go down quickly,” Johansen says. “Rising back up will be a slow process.”

A variety of factors contributed to Frankford’s status as an artists’ hub. In the late 19th century, fabric designers and dye-makers came to work in the textile mills. The Philadelphia Orchestra has its roots in Frankford, as does the Settlement Music School. “We want to stimulate that art community back in Frankford,” says the Historical Society’s Sadler.

Frankford’s reputation as a neighborhood of tolerance can be traced back as far as the late 18th century. After the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania abolished slavery in 1780, many places around the state continued to deny African Americans the opportunity to purchase property. Frankford, however, welcomed them.

Frankford has always been a diverse community socioeconomically. In the early 1700s, it was considered one of the more prestigious places in the region to live. Palatial estates lined its streets, homes with names like Cedar Grove, Chalkley Hall, Walnut Grove and Port Royal.

At the same time that wealthy mill owners were settling in Frankford, so were mill workers, as well as street car drivers, teachers and masons. “The neighborhood has always been mixed,” Sadler stresses. “That is why the skyline is very diverse here.”

What is now Frankford Avenue was built at the beginning of the 1800s, one section of the road originally known as King’s Highway, which ran from Boston to Philadelphia. In 1922, the character of the street was dramatically altered by construction of the elevated train track, which ran smack down its middle.

Living and working along the street became noisy and uncomfortable. Quite a few residents and business owners closed their buildings, many of which have not been occupied since. “I’ve been inside properties where a bathroom was never even installed,” Phelan remarks. A second wave of Frankford residents migrated to the suburbs in the 1950s, further contributing to the neighborhood’s deterioration.

During its heyday—before shopping malls, suburban sprawl and crack cocaine—the avenue overflowed with specialty stores and restaurants. “When I was a kid, it was blooming,” says Beverly Leaks, 38, who owns the Crab Cage I restaurant on the 4900 block of Frankford Avenue. “We would go to the avenue to buy new hats for church, and it was exciting.”

For the past 10 years, however, there have been no movie theaters or nice shops for families to visit, Leaks says. “Everything got bolted up. It looks like an armory.”

The neighborhood began its decline nearly two decades ago. But the shopping district remained strong until 1986, when SEPTA began renovating several elevated train stations along the street. Off-and-on for the next 10 years, train service was cut off in the evenings and on weekends, boom days for retailers.

“Closing down the El is what really killed the neighborhood,” says Phelan, regretfully shaking his head.

Gil, Rick and Jerry Pons are part of the skilled trades coalition. The brothers have been running Gilbert’s Upholstery out of a cramped space on Orthodox Street, about half a block off the avenue, since 1971. Third-generation upholsterers, the brothers were raised in Frankford and love the area. But it had deteriorated into a ghost town, they decided, and they were packing up to move on when Johansen and Phelan convinced them that rather than abandon Frankford, they should invest in it.

“We were on our way out of the area,” Gil Pons says, “and then the [Frankford Group] Ministry came in. Everyone is working to spice up the avenue, to give it a more artsy feeling.”

The Pons brothers recently bought an abandoned three-story building on Frankford Avenue and are in the process of renovating it. They plan to convert the ground level into a showroom, in hopes that increased visibility will attract foot traffic along the street.

The Ponses got help renegotiating the title to the 100-year-old building from the CDC.

While the first floor of their building was used as retail space up until 1995, the top two levels were sealed off decades ago.

Tiptoeing up rickety steps to the building’s third floor, which the brothers reopened, is like stepping into a time capsule. Although no one is exactly sure when the apartment was last inhabited, it retains what looks to be an original 1930s metal gas stove, wide porcelain sink and hand-painted wallpaper. (The last tenants to live in the apartment probably never got their security deposit back, as they failed to clean out the fridge. While the Ponses’ worst fear of finding a body inside was not realized, the refrigerator was still stocked with decayed food.)

Rick Pons is excited about the community involvement and cooperation among area merchants. “Come closing time, we used to shut the gates to our shop and drive back to our nice houses in the suburbs. We were part of the problem,” he acknowledges. “Now, we stick around for the community meetings and try to do something positive.”

Just two blocks off the avenue, Joseph Dante owns a furniture refinishing business. Every room of this former post office building is filled with magnificent antique pieces, even a grand piano, waiting to be stained or stenciled.

Scrawled in white spraypaint across the front of Dante’s building is a message, courtesy of neighborhood crackheads: “Let’s Get High!”

When Dante heard about the buildings along the avenue going for so cheap, he toyed with the idea of buying one for his son’s custom furniture business. Ultimately, he decided against it. Dante says he is not really comfortable with the idea of working directly on the avenue. For the most part, his business comes from residents of Center City and the suburbs. He fears that the increased visibility of being directly on the avenue would boost his chances of being robbed.

“My customers don’t live in the Northeast. I don’t really want a lot of people in the neighborhood to know about me,” he says.

However, Dante likes the idea of being part of an artisans coalition. “It will draw people to Frankford,” he says of the high concentration of skilled trade shops. “People who have money tend to be uppity—they don’t want to walk all over, so it’s good if they can kill two birds with one stone.”

In marked contrast to Dante, Costas Zervoudis says he would be hesitant to move his shop off the avenue. Zervoudis opened Jack’s Cameras in 1972 and has watched the avenue go through a lot of changes. “In order to bring people here, we have to do something no one else is doing,” he agrees. For his own part, Zervoudis would like to open up the darkrooms in the back of the shop and offer classes in film developing.

But it certainly wouldn’t be his first contribution to Frankford’s cultural scene. In 1994, Zervoudis bought a $4,000 movie screen and had it mounted in the lot next door to his store. During July and August, the community arts organization FrankfordStyle shows outdoor films there during its “SummerScreen” events. Phelan and other artists pitched in materials and sweat equity to build a stage in this same lot, which FrankfordStyle uses as a venue for its “SummerStage” concerts.

Glancing at the back of Kevin Phelan’s home along Frankford Avenue, it could easily be mistaken for a bomb site in Baghdad. The last time anyone lived in the place was 1943.

Looming to the right of Phelan’s rowhouse is a building occupied only on the first floor, by a dentist office. The upstairs floors look as though they haven’t been touched since the building’s owner died in the ’50s. Perhaps the last tenant was a skilled tradesman himself. A long-forgotten sander and grinder still rest on an old wooden workbench pushed against the window.

Adjacent to Phelan’s home on the left is Watts’ Aerobics Center, which opened in January. When the El tracks were laid, homes all along the street had their wooden beams reinforced with concrete and steel. To this day, the structures are as sturdy as fortresses. That’s how Peter Watts is able to lead his aerobics classes in high-impact grapevines and alternating kicks—without having to worry about his 150-year-old floor collapsing.

Just to enter Phelan’s home, you must first tramp through the stacks of boards and rolled carpet piled up in his backyard. Even so, this clutter is a major improvement compared to when he and his daughter first moved in.

“I had to clear 6-foot-high piles of garbage out of the yard,” Phelan says. “For years, neighbors were simply using it as a dumping ground.” On the bright side, at least it wasn’t rat-infested. Phelan looks around, admiring the space.

“If things go as planned,” he confides over the rumble of a Philadelphia Gas Works crew laying new pipes along Frankford Avenue, “this courtyard is going to be an outdoor cafe. People can sit here and sip their java, and really get away from it all.”

We dodge the debris and clamber up to the door, greeted by a persistent yapping from inside the house. “Don’t be afraid of Fluffy,” Phelan whispers. “She’s an old lady.” He pries open the lock and a furry gray Tibetan terrier prances out of the house, clearly overjoyed to see her owner.

Phelan ushers his visitors and the dog up a makeshift ramp into the, ahem, foyer and eases the heavy door shut. The entire ground level looks more like someone’s unfinished basement than what Phelan envisions: an art gallery.

What must have been a beautiful hardwood floor at one time was long ago smothered with cement. A fraction of the original floorboards is visible where Phelan chipped away at the concrete. Two-by-fours rest against most of the available wall space. Black wires and silver pipes dangle from the exposed beams, which once supported a ceiling (now ripped out).

“We had to take out three layers of ceiling in order to reach the original,” Phelan says, looking up at his handiwork. With the aid of several loyal friends—and considerably more cases of beer—Phelan did all the demolition work himself.

Resting on a grimy workbench, amid coils of wire and a hammer, is a bright fabric sculpture. That’s the kind of art Phelan creates “for fun.” This one, depicting monstrous-looking faces, is called “Consumer.”

“Because my job is for a commercial industry, I enjoy creating fabric sculptures just for myself,” Phelan says. “I also find that it allows me to release my anxieties about the world.”

Although the ground level has a long way to go, Phelan certainly has big dreams for it.

“This floor is going to serve as a gallery. Over, there,” he points toward a garage-style metal gate bordering the front room, “will be glass display windows for the gallery.”

Clamoring up battered stairs—they are so well-worn you can make out the bevels where hurried feet tromped for more than a century—to the second floor, the building’s potential becomes a bit more apparent. Eventually, Phelan plans to open up the front of the second floor as a ceramics studio and offer art classes.

He has already spoken to local potter Frank Hohenstein about taking over the space.

Hohenstein, 26, grew up in Frankford and recently resettled there after being away for about eight years. He says the community’s “small town feel” is perfect for attracting artists. “It definitely has enough pride and identity to come back,” he says. “And the fact that this movement is getting started by artists already in the area helps—there’s a built-in support system.”

The second-floor decor might be described as Post-Tornado: the building’s guts are still hanging out. But Phelan has fixed up his own bedroom enough that it looks slightly more inhabitable. A colorful bedspread and a few knickknacks liven up the place.

Down the hall, the bathroom is in dire need of work, but its latent charm is clear. Wrought iron supports prop up a marble sink. With a wrap-around shower curtain and a scoop of Calgon, the free-standing bathtub will, eventually, create the perfect escape.

Real evidence of progress is a few feet further down the hall.

This is Brittany’s room. Bright pink walls surround a zoo of stuffed animals. In contrast to the rest of the second floor, the room feels warm and homey, like a little girl’s room should feel. Her color television is the only modern amenity on the first two floors.

The third floor, however, is another story altogether—literally and figuratively.

The arts have often served as a catalyst in breathing life into neighborhoods badly in need of CPR. Several of Philadelphia’s most rundown areas have risen from the ashes by transforming themselves into cultural meccas. Manayunk, for instance, underwent a renaissance in the mid-’80s that brought an eclectic mix of art galleries, craft shops and antique dens to that neighborhood’s Main Street. During the first half of the 19th century, the textile industry thrived along the portion of the Schuylkill Canal that runs through Manayunk. But post-industrialization left the neighborhood with no profile and, perhaps more to the point, no job base.

When the area was designated a National Historic District in 1983, neighborhood activists took on the challenge of rebuilding it into a viable retail district. Developer Dan Neducsin recognized Manayunk as a potential retail and real estate oasis and began renovating rental properties. His strategy succeeded in bringing in yuppies with disposable income—tenants who could pay high rent and support the specialty stores along Main Street.

But it is artisans themselves, not developers, who are playing a major role in shaping Frankford Avenue into a cultural strip.

“The development of Main Street and the community is happening on the grassroots level,” says Martha Kearns, director of FrankfordStyle. “Artists are sitting around the table with the design committee and the architects. They are taking their expertise, knowledge and vision for a vital community and adding it to the mix.”

Kearns, a vivacious woman who oozes appreciation for Frankford, says the goal is to vitalize community cultural life and assist people in becoming active creators themselves.

Integrating artists into the Frankford community—rather than making them ancillary to it—she stresses, is the advantage for artists who are gutsy enough to come.

However, the challenge of creating an artisan community in Frankford is much more daunting than the obstacles faced in Manayunk, for example. That community did not have to contend with the drugs and prostitution that plague Frankford Avenue. In order to attract suburbanites and their cash-lined pockets, the avenue must, first and foremost, be perceived as safe.

There’s a high concentration of drugs in the area and most of the crime is committed by users looking for drug money, says Sgt. John McKenna, who heads up a mobile police unit along the avenue. “You get a lot of robberies, muggings, purse-snatchings… Frankford Avenue is a very busy place—there’s always something going on.”

The most recent crime statistics compiled by the Philadelphia Police Department for the 15th District are for the first six months of 1997. According to police records, there were eight murders, 269 robberies, 430 burglaries, 766 auto thefts, 14 rapes and 113 aggravated assaults. Because the department changed the way it compiles statistics, it can’t compare these statistics to previous years.

McKenna says that, anecdotally, it is hard to determine whether crime along the avenue has decreased in recent years. “Some people would say there has been a real improvement, but others tell me they wouldn’t shop on Frankford Avenue if their lives depended upon it.”

For the past three years, the Philadelphia Police Department’s 15th District has run the mini-station along the avenue. McKenna says this increased police presence has succeeded in stifling some crime in the neighborhood. “Seeing that van parked there gives people a real sense of safety.”

Last year, Frankford business owners collectively agreed to add an additional 10 percent to their property taxes to cover the cost of creating a Special Services District. Just as Center City has a corps of men and women armed with brooms and trash bags, Frankford’s yellow-clad crew sweeps the sidewalks and has instituted a “zero-tolerance” graffiti policy.

“The thing that has the biggest impact for me since I moved in is the cleanliness. The difference is like night and day,” Phelan says. “When the streets are all littered, it feels like nobody cares.”

The district also plans to hire “safety ambassadors” who will pair off to handle “light work” for the police department. “They could escort people walking home late at night,” says Lynda DeSouza, Special Services District manager. “And they could coordinate reports of narcotics activity, to help establish patterns for the police.” Once the district coughs up the money to purchase two-way radios, Frankford Avenue will be even safer, she adds.

To walk up the flight of stairs leading to Phelan’s third floor, you must first pass through a plastic sheet that doubles as a door. Think of it as passing through the gates of heaven.

Even if you know that Phelan has completely renovated the top level of his house, the contrast is still shocking when you first step onto his new parquet floor. He has knocked down all the third-floor walls, creating one airy space.

The first section of the room is the kitchen. Phelan built the wooden cabinets himself, and crowned them with green marble countertops. Wrought iron chairs circle the dining table. A handpainted tablecloth with a bright floral design is just one of the many clues that the house has an artist in residence.

An eclectic mix of period furniture lines one exposed-brick wall, as you pass into the “parlor” section of the room. Several scattered antique rugs, a fireplace and floor plants add to the cozy ambiance.

Every few minutes, an El train zooms by. Just 15 feet away from the window, it feels as if you could reach out and touch the passing cars. The scene is almost surreal. “I don’t even hear the trains anymore,” Phelan says. “You get used to it, just like the hum of your refrigerator.”

On a display shelf, next to a set of glass dishes, sits a tiny replica of one block of Frankford Avenue. Long, brightly colored tubes wrap around the El tracks and wind themselves across the tops of storefronts.

“That’s ACE DOC,” Phelan explains. “A Celebrated, Elevated Dance of Color.” Phelan is creating the sculpture based on a similar design he came up with for the grand opening of Atlantic City’s new convention center. If Phelan is able to raise enough money to actually build the piece, it will be the largest sculpture in the world, stretching for a mile and a half.

Looking onto the street from Phelan’s third-story window, you can see where construction crews are ripping out portions of the old brick sidewalks lining the avenue. The Frankford planning committee is designing new pedestrian walkways. They aren’t just your run-of-the-mill concrete sidewalks, though. Not by a long shot.

These wide new sidewalks are textured. Their blackish-gray cement looks almost polished. And they’re flecked with luminous bits of mica.

When the sunlight hits the mica just right, the sidewalks sparkle.