The Untold Story of Houston’s Westbury Square

Marketability and accessibility. These popular, contemporary terms were not used by most Houstonians in 1960, but they were key design features of Westbury Square, a quaint, outdoor collection of specialty shops in southwest Houston that embraced the idea that buyers preferred to walk rather than drive. Why is such a charming idea hidden in the pages of Houston history? Short answer: it didn’t work.

In just a few decades, Westbury Square went from one of Houston’s most unique destinations to one of its greatest eyesores. After decades of civic planning and expansion, prioritizing cars over pedestrians, Houston had become a great place for drivers. Who would want to walk in this heat? A civic master plan created in 1942 provided the blueprint for growth, with connected thoroughfares, grand boulevards, and state and federal highways, including Houston’s iconic 610 Loop. We now know that this was a reaction and an instigator of the feared sprawl. Unzoned Houston lacked the political leadership or geographic boundaries to stop, or at least control, the unrestricted development of businesses and residences along the flat coastal prairie, thereby allowing (and encouraging) them to expand more from a city center that is less and less relevant.

Architects and planners can’t contain their excitement when a developer dreams of building what is commonly called “mixed use.” They enjoy the challenge of getting drivers out of their cars, which allows for all kinds of interactions like shopping, dining, and spontaneous human contact.

As New York developer Ira Berne created the residential neighborhood of Westbury, south of Meyerland, in the lower left corner of the Loop, he had in mind an experiment that would make city planners dizzy. Near the corner of Chimney Rock and West Belfort, Berne envisioned a collection of small shops on 24 acres including not only outdoor restaurants but also second-floor residential apartments. Such a distinct destination would be an attractive selling point for the burgeoning new suburb and would differ significantly from the neighboring Meyerland Plaza shopping center.

Nearly a third of the three dozen stores were curated by the developer himself, including a coin shop, a candle maker and a Victorian-era ice cream parlor straight out of a Disney movie and perfect for a Camelot-era date night. But Bern’s greatest source of inspiration does not come from the House of Mouse, but from across the Atlantic. On every street corner, from brick sidewalks to clay tile roofs, Bern has ensured that the architectural details evoke the Old World. What you couldn’t see inside Westbury Square was nonsense out from Westbury Square: the narrow, winding streets obscured the view beyond the mall. If the area hadn’t already been named, perhaps this brand new but old shopping center would also have had a European-sounding name.

Berne built townhouses on the property and across the street to realize his mixed-use dream. He employed architect William Wortham, Jr., and gave him strict guidelines on the desired scale and source of materials, resulting in an imported Italian fountain for the plaza’s centerpiece. The site’s previous owner, Weingarten Realty, retained a few acres on the adjacent corner to build a grocery store, which draws inspiration from some exterior design elements of buildings in Bern.

Imagine an outdoor mall, without the big retailers. Imagine Montrose’s offbeat specialty shops, without the broken sidewalks and graffiti. More theme park than Italian square. The closest example Houston has today is Rice Village, where you’re likely to park your car and then walk around. (Unfortunately, residents of the adjacent Southampton, Southgate, and West U neighborhoods never seem to walk to the Village.) New developments like the River Oaks District, Montrose Collective, and downtown’s Post Houston feature contemporary designs exciting and managed to convince Houstonians to get out of their vehicles. Think Westbury Square-style shopping, dining, and social interaction, but without the cartoonish Ye Olde Shoppes.

“In 10 years, Westbury Square might turn out to be the stupidest thing you could do,” Berne admitted a few months into his experiment. “We haven’t had time to prove or disprove the underlying philosophy, but I think that’s the way things should be done now.” A decade after its opening, Westbury Square boasted 60 stores and restaurants, but the 1970s would bring fatal competition to Bern’s versatile experience.

When the Galleria opened in 1970, it joined the Gulfgate Center and Meyerland Plaza, but with one major twist. Much like the 1965 Astrodome, the Galleria was entirely indoor, protecting shoppers from the heat and humidity. No indoor-facing covered plazas like previous Houston malls. No wandering around sunny parking lots either. The cold air was exalted to such an extent that the signature of this modern square was an ice rink. With adjacent office towers, hotels, movie theaters, and a health club, the Galleria was irresistible to Houstonians and a must-see tourist destination. She remains the queen to this day. Alas, picturesque Westbury Square couldn’t compete.

Over the following decades, various new property managers attempted physical improvements and contemporary marketing strategies to transform Westbury Square into a not-so-square place. Nothing regained the original appeal and the experimental development slowly lost its tenants. The remaining buildings hide in the shadow of a Home Depot. A Texas-sized marquee with blackened former tenant shingles dominates the vacant parking lot. The chain-link fences do little to prevent travelers from wandering alone, inviting an impressive colony of stray cats. The structures are in a state of rapid decline, but no tickets from the City of Houston warn of danger or a demolition order. Again. The site is currently for sale for a cool $7.5 million.

The greater Westbury area remains solidly single-family residential, resisting Houston’s trend of allowing mushroom-shaped townhouses to sprout overnight. But neglected Westbury Square seems like it could be fertile ground for this aggressive architectural species.

Did Ira Berne take into account the fact that Houston was, even before the arrival of NASA, a city focused on the future? Lesson: Cloying nostalgia doesn’t play a role in Space City. However, those who still crave a handmade candle can head to the Texas Renaissance Festival or Dickens on the Strand.