San Antonio is a city of contradictions. On one hand, it is a beacon of historic preservation and urban revitalization. We have incredible historic districts, beautifully conserved buildings like the Alamo and the Missions, the world-renowned River Walk, and the 21st-century model for great mixed-use development in the Pearl. On the other hand, we have also been a pioneer in suburban sprawl. In fact, many of our greatest fortunes were made in the creation of sprawling, automobile-dependent development. Taco Cabana, Whataburger, Bill Miller, H-E-B, and Jim’s Coffee Shop all capitalized on the expansion of car-dominated infrastructure. Car dealerships, public school campus contractors, highway construction companies, radio broadcasters, and billboard advertisers all thrived in San Antonio because of sprawl. Unfortunately, this pattern of development is arguably the primary source of many of our contemporary American ills.

We can’t blame the business pioneers for capitalizing on sprawl. The automobile had been force-fed to society. Lobbyists pushed for road construction, the removal of streetcars, and policies that favored cars. At the time, the car seemed to solve the problem of limited space. We could now have as much space as we wanted because we could travel faster and farther. There was a certain freedom and independence that seemed to go along with car ownership. Movies like American Graffiti and Grease, and shows like Happy Days, romanticized this early era of the automobile and the freedom it promised. In those days, cars were colorful and communities were still somewhat walkable. The ratio between car-dominated infrastructure and walkable infrastructure was still fairly balanced. It might have been fun to throw on your leather jacket, take your girlfriend for a drive into the countryside to watch the sunset, and then head back to the local diner where your friends were in their letterman jackets, eating hamburgers, and listening to Dion.

But the infrastructure built for cars eventually led to our complete dependence on them. To enjoy the luxury of more space, you needed much more space. While humans take up just 3–5 square feet to walk comfortably, cars require 200–300 square feet to drive at speed—nearly 100 times more. The result has been some of the ugliest development in human history. Instead of human-scaled block design, we have car-focused site plans. Land needs to be exponentially larger to provide enough parking to sustain a retail center or a neighborhood. Our built environment is dominated by pavement. When everything is shiny and new, it doesn’t look so bad, but over time, the spread-out infrastructure becomes unsustainable to maintain. Property values can’t support the upkeep, the area starts to look tired, and the more affluent residents move on to the next outer ring of sprawl.

To see this in action, consider a tale of two developments. A 20-acre subdivision with 160 single-family homes—eight per acre—at $400,000 each is worth about $64 million. The 20-acre Pearl Brewery complex is likely valued between $500 million and $1 billion. At a 2.2% tax rate, the subdivision generates about $1.4 million in property taxes annually—far short of what’s needed to maintain its infrastructure over the long run. The Pearl generates $11–$22 million annually, easily covering its infrastructure needs and contributing heavily to the city’s general fund. The Pearl barely has roads; the subdivision devotes nearly one-third or more of its land to roads, driveways, and garage spaces.

Large, aging big-box retail centers might be the most haunting examples. In summer, you can see the sun reflecting off their vast seas of asphalt. They host oceans of parking spaces, most of which go unused. Somehow, these places seem to attract the ugliest and most ill-tempered birds. They require so much land and infrastructure that only the most capitalized businesses can afford the massive costs to develop them. Such large projects were necessary because of our car-dependent infrastructure—only developers with the most creditworthy tenants could convince a bank to finance the absurd costs.

Adios to Main Street. Au revoir to a quick countryside drive with your sweetheart. Sayonara to friends gathered at the diner. Car-centered big-box retail killed local business. The car-dependent infrastructure and single-use zoning that birthed the mall and big-box stores anonymized our communities. We are no longer liberated by the car—we are shackled to it for our most basic needs.

The consequences ripple through nearly every aspect of life:

First, we are unhealthier than ever. U.S. obesity rates have tripled since the 1960s, and morbid obesity has increased tenfold. It’s no coincidence. By eliminating walking from daily life, we’ve removed natural exercise while adding the stress of driving—both major contributors to poor health.

Second, we have less organic community. The car spaced us out, trading front porches for garage doors. We no longer run into neighbors while walking; instead, we might wave as we both back out of driveways. Community events like Siclovia, church coffee hours, and neighborhood sports are nice—but they’re substitutes for the daily, effortless interactions walkable neighborhoods once made possible.

Third, basic living is more expensive. Walking is free; cycling is nearly free. Owning a car is not. It requires a $30,000 purchase (or more), insurance, fuel or electricity, repairs, and replacement every 5–7 years. Multiply that by two or three cars for a family. Car dependence also forces us to own more stuff—lawnmowers, espresso machines, extra storage space—because the things we’d normally walk to aren’t nearby.

Fourth, small businesses can’t thrive. Development codes that require more parking than building space crush the economics for small-scale retail. A store that needs six parking spots per 1,000 square feet is actually building more space for cars than for people.

Fifth, more space for parking and more advertising for cars creates more pavement and less beauty. A more thoughtfully woven city fabric, enriched with elements of beauty, invites us to slow down, ponder, and reflect—practices much needed in our age of fast technology and constant digital stimulation. Beauty transcends and unifies, offering a rare point of common ground in our fractured political environment.

Finally—and most importantly—car-dependent infrastructure has weakened our civic muscle. It can take years to get a stop sign or crosswalk approved, with citizens forced to navigate layers of bureaucracy and “expert” studies. Streets that once felt like ours are now controlled by technocrats who keep the public at arm’s length.

I believe our automobile dependence is the root cause of many modern societal ills—health, community, economics, and even governance. You can’t meaningfully address these problems without first tackling car dependence. Money spent elsewhere without that reform is money wasted.

In short: San Antonio’s embrace of sprawl has eroded our health, hollowed out our communities, drained public resources, and stifled civic action. But none of this is irreversible.

This piece is part one of a multi-article series exploring how we got here and, more importantly, how we can get out. In the coming weeks, I’ll propose pragmatic, step-by-step ideas to curb sprawl—policies and projects that can gradually restore human-scaled streets, revive small business, and rebuild neighborhoods where people, not cars, come first. The goal: a healthier, more connected, more resilient San Antonio that future generations will be proud to call home.