June 24-30, 2004

loose canon

Independence Crawl

by Bruce Schimmel

Nearly four years after 9/11, Independence National Park still operates with less class than a sideshow at a state fair. If it's the National Park Service's intent to portray a befuddled nation under siege, they could not do much better. This, despite the Service's most recent, multimillion-dollar overhaul of security in Independence Mall this past March. If what's overheard while waiting in line means anything, many of the 2.7 million visitors that come through annually leave Philadelphia disgusted.

Last week, I got the opportunity to see our city as tourists see it — though the bright blue eyes of my 14-year-old niece. She wants to become a rabbi, so she was especially interested in all the sacred sites surrounding Independence Mall.

The Park Rangers call the Mall the most historic square mile in the United States, and it's surely the shining jewel in Philly's tiara of attractions. But its overall effect on tourism is far more of a liability than an asset.

The Convention and Visitor's Bureau should be hammering on the Feds daily for undermining the City's otherwise effective efforts. In Old City and on South Street — actually, anywhere but inside the Federal Zone of Confusion — my young niece easily followed the signage to all the shrines. She especially adored the actors in 18th-century attire. She found Philadelphians were "really friendly and helpful" to visitors in general.

But inside the Mall, We the People are treated with little more than contempt. Instead of clear signage and detailed maps, the Park Service apparently subscribes to the stand, point, and repeat school of people management. It is far worse than any airport I've ever been to.

Walk west and north across the park behind Independence Hall and you'll find yourself trapped in a cul-de-sac with a park ranger who stands, points and sends you south. At Sixth and Chestnut, there's a permanent knot of bewildered visitors being directed by several varieties of police, rangers and rent-a-cops — all of whom seem determined to disagree with each other. Acres of metal-bar fencing draped with bunting complete the look of visitor's day at a prison.

Want to visit the U.S. Mint? Past a phalanx of concrete slabs, you'll be greeted by a notice to make an appointment — along with a security guard who'll tell you with a smirk that it'll take three weeks to get in.

Ironically, many of the exhibits themselves are magnificent. The new Constitution Center is a testament to careful research and superb showmanship. But the gulf between what visitors are told and what they experience left me, my niece and clearly many others with the foul taste of institutional incompetence and official hypocrisy.