To the extent the city argues that, as a matter of law, its landuse decisions are immune from judicial scrutiny under all circumstances, its position is contrary to settled regulatory takings principles. We reject this claim of error.
Improperly planned urban development has resulted in catastrophic sprawl. The present land use zeitgeist hails urban and suburban mixed-use zoning as the solution. Mixed-use zoning combines—rather than segregates—residential, commercial, and sometimes industrial land uses, and thereby decreases housing costs, decreases commuting periods, decreases vehicle miles traveled and air emissions, increases the efficient use of land and time, and increases consumer convenience.
Smart Growth admits of no clear definition. It provides a popular label for a growth strategy that addresses current concerns about traffic congestion, disappearing open space, nonpoint source pollution, the high cost of housing, increasing local property taxes, longer commutes, and the diminishing quality of community life. To accomplish smart growth, government must take two related actions. The first is the designation of discrete geographical areas into which private market growth pressures are directed.
In the west Chicago suburb of Sugar Grove—population 4,000, twice what it was 10 years ago—new large-lot developments spread spider-like from the downtown public library, police station, and village hall out into open farmland. The village has no sizeable employers or large shopping centers, and has limited recreational facilities. All those things are available close by in other suburbs and, of course, in the city of Chicago. After elementary school, children travel to neighboring suburbs for high school.
Timothy S. Bishop and Cristina C. Tilley, litigators in the Chicago office of Mayer, Brown, Rowe & Maw, offered up a Dialogue in the July 2002, issue of the Environmental Law Reporter News & Analysis entitled Smart Growth or Dumb Bureaucracy? They didn't cite the Article I wrote with my law partner of 25 years, Gurdon H. (Don) Buck, Smart Growth, Dumb Takings, which was also published in this august periodical. I don't think we own the form of the title beginning with "Smart" and linked to "Dumb," but it would have been nice to have been recognized.
The preservation of open space has captured the public's imagination. Taxpayers are lining up to vote in favor of referenda authorizing their local or state governments to borrow funds to purchase open land or its development rights. Environmental groups are forming coalitions to support public acquisition of open space and the adoption of laws regulating development in and around open lands. Opponents of urban sprawl target the loss of open space as one of the major impacts of runaway development.
In discussions of the economies of the Mountain West, natural landscapes tend to be looked upon from either of two perspectives. The first is tied to the history of European settlement of the region. Natural landscapes are looked upon as the source of the natural resource raw materials that supply the region's "basic" industries: mining and metal processing, farming and ranching and the food processing associated with them, and timber harvest and the manufacturing based on it. The second view focuses more on the present and expected future.
On March 1, 1999, at 11:56 p.m. Pacific Coast time, the people of the United States took title to the Headwaters Forest, the largest remaining stand of privately owned, old growth redwoods in the world. Uncertain until the end, the transaction was recorded only minutes before the $250 million appropriation of federal funds for the purchase expired.
The February 2000 issue of the Environmental Law Reporter (ELR) carried an Article by Deputy Secretary of the Interior David J. Hayes relating the dramatic negotiations that led to the settlement of the Headwaters controversy, whereby the federal government agreed to buy the Pacific Lumber Company's (PALCO's) Headwaters Forest, a 7,500-acre tract of old growth redwood trees, in order to preserve it as a national park. Though I was one of the lawyers for PALCO, and thus my perspective of this affair understandably differs from Mr.
From the enactment of the National Park Service Organic Act (the Organic Act or the Act) in 1916 until a 1998 decision by a federal district court in Utah, the National Park Service (NPS) had managed national parks without resolving theseeming contradiction between the Act's directive to conserve park resources "unimpaired" and its simultaneous directive to provide for visitors' "enjoyment" of those resources. Uncertainty, confusion, and disputes about the inevitably conflicting implications of these mandates were virtually guaranteed by the text of the Act, which requires the NPS to—