The town clock strikes 'ye olde' spending feel

Many such projects have taken place in first-ring suburbs of Philadelphia, in Montgomery County, Pa. In Keswick Village, Pa., home values jumped 15 percent in the blocks immediately surrounding the clock-anchored improvements the year after the new development was done, according to Mr. Hartling.

Down the road, in Fort Washington, Pa., neighbors installed a clock 10 years ago next to a prominent intersection, an opening salvo in their battle to take back a community that had become, in essence, an off-ramp of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. “The clock was something we could point to and say ‘we’re really a group that has some vision,’ ” recalls Peter Blood, of Rescape, a local civic group. They parlayed the clock’s visibility into grants that got the attention of state transportation officials.

Ultimately, they won money for a new train station, a stone-sided bridge project, antique-looking traffic signals, and brick-like crosswalks, attracting a five-star restaurant to boot. If the colonial feel of the project – overlaid, as it is, on a wide-open industrial park/car wash/power station topography – has people scratching their heads, Mr. Blood feels it has managed at least to keep the big box stores at bay. In the process, he says, “The symbol of Fort Washington has become the clock.”

Though a me-too mentality drives many of the purchases, the out-of-a-catalog feel often fades as a community’s clock becomes imbued with its own meaning and personality, creating a meeting place, a symbol of pride, a landmark. Shirley Mosk, 40 years a resident of Keswick Village, says the clock, located on a tiny roundabout surrounded by dozens of mom-and-pop businesses, is just one more reason she loves her hometown. “It’s different. It adds something special,” she says.

Mr. Fleming, though, would like to see more creativity in the mix. Exhibit A: The clock he was commissioned to design a decade ago for the main intersection in the Philadelphia suburb of Wayne. A takeoff on the Glockenspiel of Europe, his clock features a miniature trolley, Conestoga wagon, and an old car, reminiscent of transportation modes used by residents past. The replicas emerge from the clock and rotate on the quarter-hour for this Main Line town, where colorful banners, awnings, and tony shops share the festive feel. A restaurant owner picked up the $60,000-plus tab.

Time passes in affluent Wayne, too, however. The one-time bank building that later became the restaurant with the clock-loving owner is now a financial services company. The Gap store across the street is long gone. And even the clock is a few minutes off. But mother and proud resident Allison Kelley nevertheless uses the clock to time her arrival at the preschool across the street to pick up her children. “Right now it’s a little slow,” she explains, as if dismissing the imperfection of a familiar friend. “But it’s OK. I love it. I love the clock.”

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