Two Way Street
A short drive down Park Street is all that separates campus and some of Madison’s most diverse and challenged neighborhoods. UW-Madison wants to be a good neighbor — but it’s not always easy for an institution that thinks globally to act locally.
By Michael Penn MA’97
Madison Metro Bus 53 plows up and down Park Street, ferrying commuters between UW-Madison and a park-and-ride lot thirty blocks south of campus. On a good day, it’s a five-minute ride, barely enough time to crack a novel. But in that time, Bus 53 passes a Mexican grocery store, an Asian clothing outlet, a soul-food catering business, and a Laotian restaurant as it winds through some of Madison’s most ethnically diverse neighborhoods. And if it feels like a passage between disparate worlds, in many ways, it is.
Though just three miles long, Madison’s busy Park Street covers a lot of demographic ground. At the campus end, the population is mostly white, educated, and upper-middle class. At the other, 70 percent of the residents are ethnic minorities, almost one in three have not graduated from high school, and the median family income is less than half the city average. In the past, those differences have made the neighborhoods at the south end of Park Street seem much farther away from campus than they actually are. Few faculty live in the area, and only small numbers of residents have traveled up Park Street to participate in the life of the university. While the Law School and Medical School have had long-standing outreach programs in the area, interactions with residents have tended to be scattered and fleeting.
By Michael Penn MA’97
Madison Metro Bus 53 plows up and down Park Street, ferrying commuters between UW-Madison and a park-and-ride lot thirty blocks south of campus. On a good day, it’s a five-minute ride, barely enough time to crack a novel. But in that time, Bus 53 passes a Mexican grocery store, an Asian clothing outlet, a soul-food catering business, and a Laotian restaurant as it winds through some of Madison’s most ethnically diverse neighborhoods. And if it feels like a passage between disparate worlds, in many ways, it is.
Though just three miles long, Madison’s busy Park Street covers a lot of demographic ground. At the campus end, the population is mostly white, educated, and upper-middle class. At the other, 70 percent of the residents are ethnic minorities, almost one in three have not graduated from high school, and the median family income is less than half the city average. In the past, those differences have made the neighborhoods at the south end of Park Street seem much farther away from campus than they actually are. Few faculty live in the area, and only small numbers of residents have traveled up Park Street to participate in the life of the university. While the Law School and Medical School have had long-standing outreach programs in the area, interactions with residents have tended to be scattered and fleeting.
To some, it’s hard to believe that UW-Madison — an institution of global reach that has little trouble forging relationships in places like Thailand or Norway — could be so remote to some of its closest neighbors. But that may have been the problem. For years, universities such as UW-Madison have been both far reaching and far sighted, prone to overlooking the problems and virtues of their own communities.
Those ivory-tower days are over. Now chancellors pepper their speeches with talk of accountability and responsiveness to societal problems. It’s not enough to think globally; people rightly want universities to apply some of that vision closer to home.
For UW-Madison, that has meanttaking a critical look down Park Street, to a collection of neighborhoods that are often seen as some of Madison’s most troubled — but perhaps also unappreciated — residential areas. And as a result, the university has come to realize that far more than a bus route connects it to its neighbors.
Five years ago, the university rented office space in a converted strip mall on South Park Street to try to establish closer ties in south Madison. And while it hasn’t all been block parties and barbecues, there are signs of a neighborly relationship forming. The UW has twice expanded its space at the Villager Center, which houses the Campus-Community Partnerships Office, as well as the Law School’s Neighborhood Law Project, the Volunteer Income-Tax Assistance program, and educational opportunities such as the Odyssey Project, a free humanities curriculum for non-traditional students. Research activity is on the rise, and faculty have signed on to help residents work through the area’s most significant redevelopment plan in years.
Those ivory-tower days are over. Now chancellors pepper their speeches with talk of accountability and responsiveness to societal problems. It’s not enough to think globally; people rightly want universities to apply some of that vision closer to home.
For UW-Madison, that has meanttaking a critical look down Park Street, to a collection of neighborhoods that are often seen as some of Madison’s most troubled — but perhaps also unappreciated — residential areas. And as a result, the university has come to realize that far more than a bus route connects it to its neighbors.
Five years ago, the university rented office space in a converted strip mall on South Park Street to try to establish closer ties in south Madison. And while it hasn’t all been block parties and barbecues, there are signs of a neighborly relationship forming. The UW has twice expanded its space at the Villager Center, which houses the Campus-Community Partnerships Office, as well as the Law School’s Neighborhood Law Project, the Volunteer Income-Tax Assistance program, and educational opportunities such as the Odyssey Project, a free humanities curriculum for non-traditional students. Research activity is on the rise, and faculty have signed on to help residents work through the area’s most significant redevelopment plan in years.
“We’re becoming more relevant [to community members] than we’ve been in the past,” says LaMarr Billups, a special assistant to the chancellor for community relations. “I think there’s a trust that has been built up, where people don’t see us as the eight-hundred-pound gorilla anymore.”
Like all good relationships, this one began with common ground: Park Street, which begins at the bypass freeway skirting Madison’s south side and ends at the foot of Bascom Hill, is one of the city’s most traveled thoroughfares, the main gateway to campus for anyone approaching from the south. It’s also loud, crowded, and blighted in spots, and UW-Madison and its neighbors have been drawn together by a kind of mutual angst about its future.
In 2000, the city’s South Metropolitan Planning Council launched an effort to redevelop the street. Figuring that UW-Madison might want a say in how its front door looked, council facilitator Jean Nielsen ’87 asked Billups to join the team. He eagerly accepted, in part because the university had been seeking ways to get more involved in that part of the city.
“These neighborhoods are connected to us geographically, but there are also a variety of challenges because of the diversity of cultures and array of incomes there,” he says. “There were a number of social and economic challenges that we felt — and they felt — might benefit from university resources.”
Like all good relationships, this one began with common ground: Park Street, which begins at the bypass freeway skirting Madison’s south side and ends at the foot of Bascom Hill, is one of the city’s most traveled thoroughfares, the main gateway to campus for anyone approaching from the south. It’s also loud, crowded, and blighted in spots, and UW-Madison and its neighbors have been drawn together by a kind of mutual angst about its future.
In 2000, the city’s South Metropolitan Planning Council launched an effort to redevelop the street. Figuring that UW-Madison might want a say in how its front door looked, council facilitator Jean Nielsen ’87 asked Billups to join the team. He eagerly accepted, in part because the university had been seeking ways to get more involved in that part of the city.
“These neighborhoods are connected to us geographically, but there are also a variety of challenges because of the diversity of cultures and array of incomes there,” he says. “There were a number of social and economic challenges that we felt — and they felt — might benefit from university resources.”
Billups connected the planning council with James LaGro, a professor of urban and regional planning, who devoted three semesters of course curricula to the Park Street project. Students led community meetings and helped residents form a new set of urban design guidelines for how Park Street should look and feel as it is redeveloped. The university even picked up the tab for the planning council’s office space in the Villager Center.
Universities have been more eager to take active roles in their communities in part because of the criticisms levied against them by groups such as the Kellogg Commission on the Future of State and Land Grant Universities. Formed in 1996, the panel warned that universities were becoming increasingly isolated and out of touch with local communities, and, if that trend persisted, they would become “exhibits in a kind of cultural Jurassic Park: places of great interest and curiosity, increasingly irrelevant in a world that has passed them by.” Since then, grant money for community-service work has blossomed, and everyone talks admiringly about what the commission labeled “the engaged institution,” where professors and students were in tune with local needs and able to deploy their talents to help solve problems.
Universities have been more eager to take active roles in their communities in part because of the criticisms levied against them by groups such as the Kellogg Commission on the Future of State and Land Grant Universities. Formed in 1996, the panel warned that universities were becoming increasingly isolated and out of touch with local communities, and, if that trend persisted, they would become “exhibits in a kind of cultural Jurassic Park: places of great interest and curiosity, increasingly irrelevant in a world that has passed them by.” Since then, grant money for community-service work has blossomed, and everyone talks admiringly about what the commission labeled “the engaged institution,” where professors and students were in tune with local needs and able to deploy their talents to help solve problems.
To make it happen, many universities, including UW-Madison, have pumped resources into community outreach and added dozens of new courses where students participate in service-learning projects. Gerry Campbell, who directs UW-Madison’s Community Scholars program, says the goal is not just to bring university resources to communities that may need them. “It’s about understanding that we have as much to learn from the people who operate and live in these neighborhoods as they do from the university,” he says. “At a knowledge-based institution, it can be easy to get the impression you know more than other people, and sometimes that is the case. But not always.”
South Madison, in many respects, is an ideal partner for that model. When large numbers of African-American families moved into the neighborhoods at the swampy south end of Park Street in the early 1900s, whites derisively called the area “Hell’s Half Acre.” But those neighborhoods have evolved to be strikingly diverse, dynamic communities, with nearly equal shares of African-American, Asian, Hispanic, and white households. In recent years, the neighborhoods have been troubled by higher-than-average rates of poverty and crime, and cultural clashes have sometimes thwarted attempts to build cohesive communityleadership to address those issues. But the neighborhoods also have a flavor of multiculturalism that the university savors. In community gardens at the southside Quann Park, African-Americans grow okra and corn alongside squash tended by Hmong gardeners and Latino-farmed beans and peppers.
South Madison, in many respects, is an ideal partner for that model. When large numbers of African-American families moved into the neighborhoods at the swampy south end of Park Street in the early 1900s, whites derisively called the area “Hell’s Half Acre.” But those neighborhoods have evolved to be strikingly diverse, dynamic communities, with nearly equal shares of African-American, Asian, Hispanic, and white households. In recent years, the neighborhoods have been troubled by higher-than-average rates of poverty and crime, and cultural clashes have sometimes thwarted attempts to build cohesive communityleadership to address those issues. But the neighborhoods also have a flavor of multiculturalism that the university savors. In community gardens at the southside Quann Park, African-Americans grow okra and corn alongside squash tended by Hmong gardeners and Latino-farmed beans and peppers.
“The university is always looking for diversity. Well, here we have it,” says Sarah King MAx’06, a landscape architecture graduate student who bought a home in the area in 2001 and helped establish the gardens.
Building relationships, however, isn’t as easy as just stepping off the bus. King says neighbors sometimes doubt the university’s motives when it comes knocking, especially over things like beautifying Park Street. “I think the question is, ‘Do you really care about people in the neighborhood, or do you just want to have a prettier front door to campus?’ ” she says. “You really have to prove that you can be trusted, that you have something to offer and something that is of value.”
To Boyd Rossing, that means talking less and listening more. A professor of human ecology who specializes in community leadership, Rossing leads a project called Family Voices, which is one of the keystones of the UW’s efforts. Beginning in 2002, Family Voices has convened meetings of African-American residents of south Madison, where sometimes the UW organizers do little more than take notes.
Building relationships, however, isn’t as easy as just stepping off the bus. King says neighbors sometimes doubt the university’s motives when it comes knocking, especially over things like beautifying Park Street. “I think the question is, ‘Do you really care about people in the neighborhood, or do you just want to have a prettier front door to campus?’ ” she says. “You really have to prove that you can be trusted, that you have something to offer and something that is of value.”
To Boyd Rossing, that means talking less and listening more. A professor of human ecology who specializes in community leadership, Rossing leads a project called Family Voices, which is one of the keystones of the UW’s efforts. Beginning in 2002, Family Voices has convened meetings of African-American residents of south Madison, where sometimes the UW organizers do little more than take notes.
“We spend time really getting to know families and hearing them talk about the issues that concern them,” says Rossing. From those sessions, he and other faculty are identifying issues on which the university and the community can cooperate, such as promoting parent involvement in schools and bringing healthy foods to the neighborhood.
Achievements are admittedly modest, but Rossing says it’s essential not to let ambitions get beyond reality. “UW-Madison is a huge place, with an international reputation and thousands of students, and it’s very easy for an institution like that to come in and overwhelm a community,” he says.
That is exactly what happened early on in the university’s partnership with the South Metropolitan Planning Council.
Encouraged by the work they’d done on the Park Street redevelopment plan, the university invited council facilitator Nielsen and a few other community members to a meeting at the Red Gym to discuss next steps. They were met by an audience of some sixty faculty, many of whom wanted to hash out plans for research projects that dealt with everything from housing to health care. “We were totally overwhelmed,” says Nielsen. “I think the university culture is to open the door and invite a thousand people in to talk about the issues, and, at that point, we needed to stay focused on what we could accomplish.”
Achievements are admittedly modest, but Rossing says it’s essential not to let ambitions get beyond reality. “UW-Madison is a huge place, with an international reputation and thousands of students, and it’s very easy for an institution like that to come in and overwhelm a community,” he says.
That is exactly what happened early on in the university’s partnership with the South Metropolitan Planning Council.
Encouraged by the work they’d done on the Park Street redevelopment plan, the university invited council facilitator Nielsen and a few other community members to a meeting at the Red Gym to discuss next steps. They were met by an audience of some sixty faculty, many of whom wanted to hash out plans for research projects that dealt with everything from housing to health care. “We were totally overwhelmed,” says Nielsen. “I think the university culture is to open the door and invite a thousand people in to talk about the issues, and, at that point, we needed to stay focused on what we could accomplish.”
She says there are still times when it seems the university and the community are speaking different languages, but things are getting smoother, albeit gradually. “The idea is to figure out how we can bring faculty and students — and all the resources they have to offer — to work with the community, and the key phrase there is with,” she says. “This can’t be the university coming in and saying, ‘We’re here to help.’ It takes getting to know the community and understanding its needs.”
It’s ninety degrees on the summer afternoon that I visit the south branch of the Madison Public Library, and it seems as if half the neighborhood has fled there to cool off. Children ramble about, avoiding their homework and waiting for a turn at computer terminals. A librarian helps a girl find Africa on a large world map. Adults chat softly about books and jobs.
If you want to understand what the south Madison community wants, Ileana Rodriguez ’95 tells me, this is the place to go. Rodriguez, a community outreach counselor with the UW’s Division of Continuing Studies, has been doing that for ten years. Every Monday evening, she unfurls a red UW-Madison banner over a table and spends two hours fielding questions from residents about ... well, everything. Officially, she’s there to help adults who are seeking to return to school, but to many, she is the face of the university, a smiling font of knowledge about its myriad resources.
It’s ninety degrees on the summer afternoon that I visit the south branch of the Madison Public Library, and it seems as if half the neighborhood has fled there to cool off. Children ramble about, avoiding their homework and waiting for a turn at computer terminals. A librarian helps a girl find Africa on a large world map. Adults chat softly about books and jobs.
If you want to understand what the south Madison community wants, Ileana Rodriguez ’95 tells me, this is the place to go. Rodriguez, a community outreach counselor with the UW’s Division of Continuing Studies, has been doing that for ten years. Every Monday evening, she unfurls a red UW-Madison banner over a table and spends two hours fielding questions from residents about ... well, everything. Officially, she’s there to help adults who are seeking to return to school, but to many, she is the face of the university, a smiling font of knowledge about its myriad resources.
“My husband hates to drive my minivan, because it’s totally full of time-tables and brochures and information about every department on campus,” she says.
Born in Puerto Rico and fluent in English and Spanish, Rodriguez relates well to the concerns, frustrations, and fears some people have about UW-Madison. She interrupted her own UW studies, returning to finish as an adult, and she knows firsthand that only the fortunate follow the straight roads to their degrees. She says many of the people she speaks with have been led to believe that UW-Madison has little to offer them, either because it’s too expensive or too competitive. Most of the time, those prove to be misconceptions, she says.
“We’re here to guide people and show them that they have options that can help them get to where they want to go,” she says. “The UW does offer lots of evening courses and distance learning that sometimes can work for people.”
There’s no question that more paths into UW-Madison’s classrooms exist than ever before. Beyond beefing up the financial assistance available tolow-income and part-time students, the university has created new opportunities such as the Odyssey Project, which open doors to students who might have found them closed a few years ago.
Born in Puerto Rico and fluent in English and Spanish, Rodriguez relates well to the concerns, frustrations, and fears some people have about UW-Madison. She interrupted her own UW studies, returning to finish as an adult, and she knows firsthand that only the fortunate follow the straight roads to their degrees. She says many of the people she speaks with have been led to believe that UW-Madison has little to offer them, either because it’s too expensive or too competitive. Most of the time, those prove to be misconceptions, she says.
“We’re here to guide people and show them that they have options that can help them get to where they want to go,” she says. “The UW does offer lots of evening courses and distance learning that sometimes can work for people.”
There’s no question that more paths into UW-Madison’s classrooms exist than ever before. Beyond beefing up the financial assistance available tolow-income and part-time students, the university has created new opportunities such as the Odyssey Project, which open doors to students who might have found them closed a few years ago.
“I always wanted to take classes, but I could never afford it,” says Pam Holmes, who has lived in south Madison for twenty-one years. “The great thing about the Odyssey Project is that it’s free, as long as you work hard and you’re willing to learn.”
Holmes completed the year-long Odyssey course as part of its first class in 2003–04. She has also participated in Family Voices and the Grassroots Leadership College, a community-run training program that teaches organizational and leadership skills. She credits the university for inspiring her confidence. “I feel like when I start something now, I can see the finish line,” she says.
This is how the university’s reputation is being reconstructed in south Madison, case by case, client by client, relationship by relationship. No one doubts it is making a difference. But what many yearn for is the day when individual stories such as Holmes’s are the rule, not the exception. There’s great depth in the anecdotes, but perhaps not yet much breadth.
“It’s a slow process,” says Rossing, noting that many of the people who come to Family Voices meetings are residents who have already been active in their communities. “There’s a gulf of understanding on both sides. But if you think about it, that isn’t really surprising. Traditionally, universities have been kind of isolated, and the idea that they would connect back to local communities historically hasn’t been part of that mission. People aren’t used to thinking about a niversity in that way.”
Holmes completed the year-long Odyssey course as part of its first class in 2003–04. She has also participated in Family Voices and the Grassroots Leadership College, a community-run training program that teaches organizational and leadership skills. She credits the university for inspiring her confidence. “I feel like when I start something now, I can see the finish line,” she says.
This is how the university’s reputation is being reconstructed in south Madison, case by case, client by client, relationship by relationship. No one doubts it is making a difference. But what many yearn for is the day when individual stories such as Holmes’s are the rule, not the exception. There’s great depth in the anecdotes, but perhaps not yet much breadth.
“It’s a slow process,” says Rossing, noting that many of the people who come to Family Voices meetings are residents who have already been active in their communities. “There’s a gulf of understanding on both sides. But if you think about it, that isn’t really surprising. Traditionally, universities have been kind of isolated, and the idea that they would connect back to local communities historically hasn’t been part of that mission. People aren’t used to thinking about a niversity in that way.”
Resources are a problem: the university has applied three times for money to start a Community Outreach Partnership Center, a program run by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, but has yet to win funding. Most of the projects in south Madison rely on university funding, along with a mix of local grants, for support.
At the Villager Center, UW-Madison’s presence has sparked other ventures that give the place a lively feel. Madison Area Technical College offers classes there six days a week, and the UW Space Place, a hands-on astronomy museum, has recently moved in. But the mall hasn’t yet evolved into the kind of vital meeting place where a student might sit down for coffee with a community member, and that’s what many say is needed to help students build on their classroom learning.
“There is so much to be learned from these neighborhoods,” says Margaret Nellis, who manages academic partnerships with the community for University Health Services. She has taken groups of faculty and students on “cultural tours” of south Madison, introducing them to a few of its residents and gathering places. Last semester, she helped organize a two-week series of lectures about the area for students at Chadbourne Residential College. With a long — yet relatively unappreciated — history as a multiracial neighborhood, south Madison provides compelling local examples to enrich studies of civil rights, urban planning, and culture studies, she says.
At the Villager Center, UW-Madison’s presence has sparked other ventures that give the place a lively feel. Madison Area Technical College offers classes there six days a week, and the UW Space Place, a hands-on astronomy museum, has recently moved in. But the mall hasn’t yet evolved into the kind of vital meeting place where a student might sit down for coffee with a community member, and that’s what many say is needed to help students build on their classroom learning.
“There is so much to be learned from these neighborhoods,” says Margaret Nellis, who manages academic partnerships with the community for University Health Services. She has taken groups of faculty and students on “cultural tours” of south Madison, introducing them to a few of its residents and gathering places. Last semester, she helped organize a two-week series of lectures about the area for students at Chadbourne Residential College. With a long — yet relatively unappreciated — history as a multiracial neighborhood, south Madison provides compelling local examples to enrich studies of civil rights, urban planning, and culture studies, she says.
“Some students will admit to me that they’re afraid to go into these neighborhoods. There are so many assumptions about people who live there,” Nellis says.
“I think when students have the opportunity to meet people and interact with them, they can overcome some of those stereotypes. And those are lessons that they can carry with them to virtually every community in the country.”
Gerry Campbell also took students to south Madison in September to learn about the community gardens at Quann Park. The hope is that students will sustain those connections on their own by returning to study or volunteer.
“Students tend to lead very compartmentalized lives, and I think they often haven’t learned to think about other dimensions that affect their lives,” says Campbell. They have a tendency, for example, to think that the only way to learn about another culture is to do a semester abroad. But, he says, “There is a level of experiences available here that does not require crossing an ocean.”
“I think when students have the opportunity to meet people and interact with them, they can overcome some of those stereotypes. And those are lessons that they can carry with them to virtually every community in the country.”
Gerry Campbell also took students to south Madison in September to learn about the community gardens at Quann Park. The hope is that students will sustain those connections on their own by returning to study or volunteer.
“Students tend to lead very compartmentalized lives, and I think they often haven’t learned to think about other dimensions that affect their lives,” says Campbell. They have a tendency, for example, to think that the only way to learn about another culture is to do a semester abroad. But, he says, “There is a level of experiences available here that does not require crossing an ocean.”
In the limited social geography of many students, Quann Park might as well be across an ocean. But that, too, could change. It’s a guarded secret among some graduate students that south Madison, with its proximity to campus and relatively inexpensive housing, is a good place to live. Four years ago, Sarah King and her partner found they could afford mortgage payments on a ranch home there, even on two graduate-student stipends.
“We love this neighborhood,” she says. “It has such an interesting history, and the neighbors are such neat people.”
Living there has also intersected nicely with King’s educational goals, giving perspective and balance to her studies. “I feel like you can learn so much just by living here and talking to people,” she says. For the past four summers, she helped children from her neighborhood plant a flower garden at Quann. One day, she taught them how to separate sunflower seeds from their seedheads by tossing them in the breeze. “We were sifting and winnowing,” she says. “I know that’s what we’re supposed to be doing at the university, but this was actually sifting and winnowing. I think that impressed me more than them.”
“We love this neighborhood,” she says. “It has such an interesting history, and the neighbors are such neat people.”
Living there has also intersected nicely with King’s educational goals, giving perspective and balance to her studies. “I feel like you can learn so much just by living here and talking to people,” she says. For the past four summers, she helped children from her neighborhood plant a flower garden at Quann. One day, she taught them how to separate sunflower seeds from their seedheads by tossing them in the breeze. “We were sifting and winnowing,” she says. “I know that’s what we’re supposed to be doing at the university, but this was actually sifting and winnowing. I think that impressed me more than them.”
- Take a cultural tour of the Park Street corridor.
- Find out about the Medical School’s south side clinic.
- Read about the Law School’s Neighborhood Law Project.
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