Metrocenter

Gentrification. Sounds good in theory. Fixing up areas of decay and distress. Raising property values. Doing good for the community.

But with it comes the raised rents. Long-term tenants who can no longer afford to live in their homes. Changing the community. Losing the culture.

Metrocenter Mall has been a staple of the valley since the early 70s. Everyone who grew up here has a story. First kisses on the steps outside of Diamond’s. Powdered sugar covered chocolate churros at Choo-Choo Charlie's. Ice skating on the rink, maybe even witnessing the balcony jumper’s suicide right onto the ice during open skate. Cruising the outer loop on Friday nights. Working their first job at what was once one of the largest indoor shopping malls in America. 

When I began documenting Metrocenter, every time I was over there taking pictures, someone would ask me what I was doing and then start telling me their stories. So many stories. Metrocenter was the place to hang out for teens and young adults. A safe place to just exist and be with friends. A classic American teenager mall rat existence.

And then it changed. By the time I moved here in 2013, over half the stores were empty. The mall included things like Native Health Information and Referral Center, Halo Pet Adoption Center, and Phoenix Conservatory of Music. There were still a handful of stores and multiple places to buy pretzels, but it was no longer the place to be seen. You know it’s not going to last as a mall on its own when Walmart moves in.

When they announced that Metrocenter was finally going to be torn down, the community rallied for a farewell party. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure played both at the Harkins Theater and on the side of a digital billboard truck outside. There were food trucks and vendors. Live music from groups who hit their prime at the same time as the mall. An 80s costume contest. And one last car show along the outer edge of the circular drive.

There’s the promise that something better is coming, and the developer, who couldn’t even get the name “Metrocenter” correct during the press conference, pompously announced that The Metropolitan would be just what the community needs. A mixed-use walkable urban village, complete with pickleball courts, bike paths, and green spaces to make it look like it’s anywhere but Phoenix. Off camera, though, he quickly clarified that while yes, it would be affordable housing, it was going to be “little ‘a’ affordable, not capital ‘A’ affordable.” Classic gentrification.

The community hates it. They mock the recently completed light rail station as “bringing in all the wrong people” and refuse to believe that this area could ever be highly desirable (forgetting that it once was long ago).

As I watched and documented the demolition process, I oriented myself around an oak tree. I used a ladder to get photos over the extensive construction fencing, going to Metrocenter after the demolition crew left for the day since they would dramatically stop all machinery if I tried to take a photo while they were working. The tree was steadfast, a contrast to the rapidly changing mall. I wondered what its fate would be.

When I read that demolition was complete, I went back to see what the blank slate looked like. I was surprised to see Sears still standing, and I am curious to see what they plan to do with it. Then I hesitantly drove around the corner to see the oak tree, to get one final picture with it. And it was gone. After standing witness to the demolition, piece by piece by piece, it was then destroyed as well, making room for something “better.”