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Dear Readers: Welcome to the suburbs, the Land of Sprawl, where the bond between humans and their cars is as concrete as the cement that covers our dwindling open spaces.

In the Land of Sprawl, you can't get there from here without your trusty sport utility vehicle, BMW or Volvo. And if you could, you wouldn't want to. It's un-American, certainly un-Suburban. You don't want the Joneses laughing while you hoof it to the nearest strip mall with toddlers and stroller in tow. Besides, walking is much too time-consuming when everything you need is so spread out, and the commute so clogged with traffic that it takes forever to get to just about anywhere.

Don't believe me, dear readers from downstate climes more sublime and bucolic?

Let me explain. A few years back, my employer, the Daily Herald, made the move from its quaint but cramped two-story quarters in downtown Arlington Heights to a five-story expanse some folks say resembles the mothership from one of the Star Wars thrillers. (At Daily Herald HQ, we like that comparison, because we aim to be the only publication of the future for folks who call the Land of Sprawl home. But, I digress.)

This building abuts the Northwest Tollway, giving us tremendous marketing presence with signage for the thousands of sprawlers crawling to and from their big city work destinations.

You can't get there from here without your trusty sport utility vehicle, BMW or Volvo. And if you could, you wouldn't want to.

But, as luxurious as this building is, it's close to nothing. It's at the end of a frontage-road-like drive near several other office complexes, so you couldn't dream of going anywhere without your car. Drop off the dry cleaning? Hop in the car, or stay in the office and use the service the company set up. Buy a few birthday cards for friends and family? The nearest Hallmark store is in a strip mall, of course, probably one mile away, but a good five-minute drive, depending on how many traffic lights you catch. Just venturing out for lunch after my 50- to 70-minute morning reverse commute from the North Side of Chicago can be another character builder.

But for you, dear readers, I decided to endure. Just to chronicle the telling details of life in the Land of Sprawl, this intrepid reporter escaped for lunch on a recent unseasonably warm spring day. Nothing too adventurous or overwhelming, like a trip anywhere near mammoth Woodfield Mall. Just getting there would take easily more than half of my generous one-hour lunch allotment. No, I decided an easy excursion from my south Arlington Heights locale to a downtown Arlington Heights sandwich shop would do.

I fired up the old five-speed coupe on the second-story of the Daily Herald's absolute necessity of a parking garage and headed for the perilous left-hand turn from the complex driveway onto Algonquin Road. (Perilous, you see, because there is as yet no light at the drive; it can take a full 10 minutes, enough time for a complete case of road rage to settle in, just to catch enough of a break in the traffic to make it across three lanes to the middle of the intersection.) But that day I made it out of the driveway after just a few seconds' wait. Precisely eight minutes later, having caught green lights most of the way, I arrived down-town after my three-mile trip.

And downtown just isn't what it used to be. Like so many communities across the Land of Sprawl, Arlington Heights is in the midst of a conversion from sleepy, quaint little bookstores, restaurants, greeting card and knick-knack shops to condos, apartments, townhomes and bigger-retail-per-square-foot than will fit. It is, in one sense, a bit of anti-sprawl in the midst of sprawl. They're building up, not out, adding movie theatres, restaurant chains, upscale coffee shops and high-end clothing stores.

At first blush, it is apparent the plan here was to encourage a community-within- a-community, where everything folks need is, gasp, within walking distance. But I take a closer look and see the planners recognize they're up against years of inertia. There is a massive under-ground parking garage in the midst of the newest retail center, parking all around the new shops and not an empty space in sight on this 75-degree day. So much for cutting us off from the evil addiction to our cars. The withdrawal would be much too painful.

Three quick breaths of fresh air before and after my cucumber and sprouts sandwich, and it's back to the four trusty wheels that are my lifeline. A full 10 minutes, three big miles of six-lane roadway later and I am back on the driveway that leads to the mothership. On either side of that driveway are a few stick-like trees, a patch or two of grass and plenty more parking lots.

Ah, sprawl, sweet suburban sprawl. 

Madeleine Doubek is assistant metro editor/projects & politics for the Daily Herald, a suburban metro newspaper.

Illinois Issues April 2000 | 45