In the beginning
Back in the mid-1980s, Memphis developer Henry Turley wasn't looking to be a poster child for the New Urbanism. In fact, he hadn't even  heard of the New Urbanism. "I wanted to populate downtown," he says, "to do it in a way appropriate for someone who wanted a quasi-urban way of living. It was a market response—not a conscious attempt to recreate my childhood environs, even though that certainly informed the way I thought about things. I simply wanted to create a pre-war, pre-automobile-style neighborhood."
Turley had his work cut out for him. The type of place he meant to create was untested, unproven. Everyone but him was edgy, conservative. Lenders were afraid to finance a "different place, a different form"; potential buyers were at first hesitant to move "downtown." A drowsy housing market lent to Turley's concern that Harbor Town might not be a safe investment. Nevertheless, planning began in 1988, with official groundbreaking to follow in 1989.
And the problems came out of the woodwork.
Harbor Town's smaller lot sizes caused much of the trouble, early on. The builders couldn't "hit the lots"; i.e., they were so used to building for the suburban pattern—where a foundation dug 10 feet to one side or the other of center is not so dreadful a mistake—that their foundations often encroached on neighboring lots. Real estate signs, which were scaled for larger lots and faster traffic flow, stuck out like sore thumbs. Concrete curbs were poured wrongly. Even standard mailboxes were too large, again, because they were scaled for suburbia.
Turley quickly realized that none of the regular construction "bodies" knew how to handle a development pattern such as Harbor Town's, which required a greater amount of input, thought, and focus on detail.
Henry adopted a more hands-on approach. He sought out builders, brought them together with architects, and worked through the problems that were developing. He was the picture of proactivity. When the Memphis Fire Department balked at the alleys—thinking they were too narrow for the fire trucks to maneuver in—Tony Bologna, Henry Turley Company's vice president of development, climbed into one of their trucks with the fire chief and drove through the alleys during their construction to prove that they would not pose a problem.
And Harbor Town homes began to rise from the ground.

Architecture
Trying to get Memphis architect J. Carson Looney to name a predominant architectural style in Harbor Town is like trying to stack oranges. But if you want to talk about Harbor Town architecture, Looney is the go-to man. Roughly 70 percent of Harbor Town bears the signature stamp of Looney Ricks Kiss Architects (LRK), and an impressive 90 percent of those homes were built on spec.
Looney feels the success of Harbor Town comes from its refusal to allow the homes to become tied in to a specific architectural style. "Harbor Town is unique in that, while it carries forth Henry Turley's vision (a diverse community of classically inspired homes making for a great place to live), it uses fundamental basics of classic traditional homes," rather than mimicking history. Some are close interpretations of historic homes; others are contemporary versions. Some visitors to Harbor Town marvel that the homes work so well together, given the varying types and styles of architecture that are present.
But Looney warns against quantifying Harbor Town's architecture. "It's not a formula," he says. "If you maintain the fundamental basics that make for a classic home (streetscape, exterior elements), you don't have to be hung up on being "historical"—getting every detail down to the last doorstop."
And what are those fundamental elements? A raised foundation, tall ceilings, vertical windows, tall doors, a composition of form and elements that work together without any one single element screaming for attention. The home then works as a whole, from the ground to the roof. "When you do that with each home and put them into a streetscape, it becomes harmonious versus monotonous," says Looney.
A common complaint leveled against TNDs in general is that they look contrived, fake—even eerie. One recent visitor to Celebration, Fla., said that the streetscapes made him uneasy; he felt as though, if he looked behind the homes, he would see two-by-fours propping up the facades.
"The houses in Harbor Town are not just facades on the street," says Looney. "We tried to make people aware of the public, semi-public, and private areas. We tried to make each home address all three aspects of how a home lives—inside and outside."
They worked at it all right, incorporating a design review process that first consisted of Henry Turley and five architects, including Looney. They had a guideline book that contained Turley's architectural vision: rooted in tradition and forward-moving. In time, the group realized that the guideline book wasn't quite doing the trick, so they created visual design guidelines—images from books and magazines pasted onto foamcore boards—graphical illustrations showing "appropriate" and "inappropriate" elements of a home. They used these boards to illustrate what types of homes they wanted to build. Eventually, Looney Ricks Kiss built the first home in Harbor Town.
The design review process included an on-site meeting with the prospective homeowners, during which the group discussed how the home could be arranged on a site to create a courtyard or other private space, to capture views and enhance other opportunities for the site. In short, this meeting enhanced the value of each homeowner's endeavor. Looney says, "The design review process is an enhancing process, rather than a controlling one. Many people responded to the process by saying 'I can't believe I've come up with a better house than I started with!' I think only one individual was a little disturbed by the process."
Turley appointed Carson Looney the Town Architect, a title he carried for nine years. Nowadays, a builder or owner will send in a plan to be reviewed by a smaller group of architects. They usually get their plan back within a week.

Amenities
Harbor Town is a walking community—and there are plenty of destinations. The commercial/civic sector is roughly half finished and includes Miss Cordelia's Grocery, which has operated in the black without subsidy from day one; Harbor Town Gift & Garden; A Great Cut, a hair salon; a coin-operated laundry; Maria Montessori School, a K-8 school that has grown so swiftly it is scheduled for a fourth expansion; and a bilingual (English/Spanish) daycare that was founded by two former high school Spanish teachers. They had come to Henry Turley convinced that high schoolers couldn't be taught Spanish, and wanted to try teaching three-year-old students! Turley was so impressed with their vision, he built them the $600,000 daycare.
Harbor Town is safe. Annette Sharp, sales manager for Henry Turley Realtors, has an idea why crime is almost nonexistent. "Harbor Town has only one entrance and one exit; it's bound by the Mississippi River on the other sides. The homes are close together and close to the street," incorporating the "eyes on the street" notion of the New Urbanism. Memphis police add the final touch of security.
Debbie Woodard, vice president of property management for Harbor Town, manages the community's homeowners' association and knows firsthand what amenities draw people to Harbor Town—and what those amenities create in the end.
"Harbor Town's biggest amenity is the Mississippi River; the homes that actually front the river are tremendous," she says. "Plus, it's close to downtown, which is great for the empty nesters who want to move there.
"Harbor Town is filled with nature trails, ponds, and walking trails that connect throughout the town. The marina has 50 boat slips available (with more added soon). The condo project has started. The mixed-use aspect is coming together wonderfully: You can stay on the island if you wish because the support services are there, which cuts down on the number of car trips you have to take.
"It's like walking back into your past, when neighbors knew neighbors," says Woodard. "I think that feeling of community has been lost in suburbia—it seems to be one of the most important things that people are looking for."

Community
All the elements of Harbor Town—some easily quantifiable, some simply heartfelt—work together to create what suburbia has failed to deliver: genuine community. Amenities draw people to Harbor Town; community makes them neighbors.
A conscious choice to integrate housing types lends to this sense of belonging. For example, apartments are a part of the whole of Harbor Town—not a social dividing line between renters and homeowners. Residents move from single-family homes to townhomes; they move from apartments to stunning side yard homes; empty nesters go from large mansions on the Mississippi to smaller, more manageable condominiums. They go for walks and visit with friends in Nursery Park. They borrow eggs and sugar from each other (that's right:  They borrow eggs and sugar).
Nothing builds community like gardening, and Harbor Town's Garden Club is a behind-the-scenes wonder. Garden Club members have conquered Mud Island's sandy soil and created small wonders of horticulture. Each spring they hold a "secret garden tour" to raise money for the club. While the secret garden tour is a private, community-oriented event, nothing stops visitors to Harbor Town from strolling the pleasant streets and taking in the more readily visible flora. Ornamental grasses, hydrangeas, azaleas, daffodils, blackberry lilies, roses, wildflowers—all are set proudly on display.
These parts make up the whole of Harbor Town, drawing folks like Michael Anderson, who has lived there for four years. What drew her to Harbor Town was "the fact that it's a planned community and that it's made up of diverse people from different places. It goes back to the times when people had neighbors that really cared about each other. It has a wonderful family feel—like being on vacation!"
And just in case you didn't believe that line about borrowing sugar, bend your ear toward Michael: "If you don't have a cup of sugar, you just walk next door and borrow it if you can't walk down to Miss Cordelia's. I think it's becoming even more that way."
Becoming. Nice word, isn't it? —Jason Miller