× Expand Photograph by Emil Boehl, c. 1880, Missouri History Museum Vandeventer Place, looking west

The private streets of St. Louis are famous.

Long before modern-day zoning and regulations, a segment of St. Louis high society chose to separate itself from the rest of the population, often living in the predecessors of modern suburbia designed by Julius Pitzman. Most of these private streets still exist, though some, such as Vandeventer Place, were annihilated in the mid-20th century. Today, these elite refuges for the wealthy are viewed by today’s St. Louisans as wonderful reminders of the glory days—or as telling relics of unresolved class resentment. Regardless, it's interesting to see what the contemporary observer of these private streets, as the streets were being platted and sold, thought of these St. Louis inventions.

An interesting article from May 6, 1895, in the now-defunct St. Louis Republic offers insights into the institution of private streets around the year 1900, when most of the Pitzman designs opened. There is always a certain confidence in newspapers at the time, and the article opens with a humblebrag about the recently opened Union Station, which was the largest and busiest train station at the time. The author remarks that since all rail traffic passes through the terminal, out-of-town visitors do not have the opportunity to see any of the city while transferring to other rail depots, despite the fact most private streets are not located anywhere near downtown St. Louis.

But the reporter does go on to include an insightful quote from a driver who provided tours to visitors:

“Everyone is surprised and delighted at our private places, and notably Vandeventer, Westmoreland, and Portland; these being the three most convenient to include in a two hours’ ride.”

The conversation later turned to the visitors’ amazement at the well-tended boulevards that separated grand carriageways. A few wondered aloud how the money was raised in order to keep all the gardeners paid. Vandeventer Place was famous, of course, for requiring unanimous approval of all landowners for any change in the restrictions put in place at its founding. There are rumors that it’s still difficult for the residents of some private streets in St. Louis to keep the bills paid for the large numbers of privately held streets or medians.

× 1 of 7 Expand Photograph by Emil Boehl, c. 1895, Missouri History Museum Westmoreland Place × 2 of 7 Expand Photograph by Emil Boehl, N.D., Missouri History Museum Portland Place × 3 of 7 Expand Photograph by William Swekosky, c. 1896, Missouri History Museum Byron Nugent Residence, 29 Westmoreland Place × 4 of 7 Expand Missouri History Museum East entrance to Portland Place, Samuel Kennard House visible, 1906 × 5 of 7 Expand Photograph by Emil Boehl, c. 1900, Missouri History Museum East entrance, Westmoreland Place × 6 of 7 Expand Missouri History Museum Theodore Link House, West Cabanne Place, c. 1910 × 7 of 7 Expand Photograph by Georg Stark, c. 1909, Missouri History Museum West entrance, Portland Place Prev Next

While the eventual demise of Vandeventer Place is famous—Grand Center transformed from an exclusive residential area after the Civil War into a second downtown in the early 20th Century, signs of its weaknesses were already showing in 1895:

“To the impartial observer at the present time it appears as if the only mistake made by the projectors of Vandeventer Place was the overlooking, or rather the underestimating of the growth of the city. Vandeventer Avenue [the western border of the private street] is rapidly a retail street, and Grand Avenue [the eastern border] is putting away residential ideas with a pertinacity which, while sure evidence of the city’s progress, is painful to the lover of old times. Vandeventer Place is now very largely hemmed in by street railroads and business houses, and in the course of a few years this is liable to prove quite a detriment.”

These were prophetic words, as eventually the whole neighborhood around Vandeventer Place would either convert to office buildings, theaters, or relatively low-income housing. The grand private place was demolished in two parts, one half for the veterans’ hospital and the other half for a juvenile detention facility.

The article then moves on to the private streets opening north of Forest Park: Westmoreland and Portland places. It’s hard to imagine it now, but the author bemoans the muddy ruts of Kingshighway and Union, which were still not paved. The wealthy residents of the new private places were forced to pay out of pocket for sidewalks. The famous gatehouses on the east and west ends were the topic of much conversation as well; among the residents of the West End of the city, people held strong opinions on whether the west or east entrance was the fairer of the two. The gates were not closed originally, but entrance was “a privilege, not a right,” and homeowners ensured that “sidewalks are as smooth as billiard tables, and the sprinkling arrangements for the driveways keep those thoroughfares in perfect condition, mud as well as dust guarded against.”

While the article is a bit too optimistic about the end of coal burning (that was still decades away), we learn that residents of Westmoreland and Portland could only burn “hard coal” and coke (distilled coal), bituminous coal being banned. Combined with Forest Park to the south, and the walls of the grand homes supposedly suffered no staining from air pollution.

The article also touches on Cabanne Place, in the far western reaches of the city, in the West End. The author speaks of this area in mysterious terms, describing the area as “the Mecca of the man who wanted a home ‘far from the madding crowd’ and who was able to keep his carriage with which to drive to and from business.” But now, it seems, this “unexplored region” was as easily reached from the central city as was Grand Avenue a generation ago.

The article finishes with a visit to Compton Heights, one of Pitzman’s masterpieces. The author seems confused at first by the curved streets of Hawthorne and Longfellow, but then arrives at a revelation: curved lines are not the shortest distances between two points. By curving the main arteries of the subdivision, Pitzman has lowered the possibility of cut-through traffic through the neighborhood. The legacy of St. Louis’s private streets centers around how post–World War II developers sought to democratize such designs for homeowners outside of the upper class. Railroad suburbs such as Webster Groves certainly already existed, but now the modern subdivision would be replicated on a massive scale.