I remember the first time I ever read those words.

“There must be a clear demarcation between what is public space and what is private space. Public and private spaces cannot ooze into each other as they do typically in suburban settings or in projects.”

These were the words of the late author, activist and urbanista Jane Jacobs from her profound 1961 book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities.

The book caused a stir among urban planners who, at the time, were heavy into urban renewal, stark high rises surrounded by grass — and zoning.

Jane Jacobs was saying the opposite: that for a city to work the way it should, there has to be huge and wild diversity of people, purpose and the cost, style and age of structures — for living, retail, business and government — all in one neighborhood. All together now. But within that neighborhood, there should be a place for everything and everything should be in its place. All lined up next to each other, but compartmentalized as well.

I started thinking back to Jacobs’ ideas recently when popular South Loop blog Sloopin hosted a rousing and thoughtful discussion in a giddy round of comments about the whys and wherefores, the good and the bad of Dearborn Park. Commenters debated the way it turns inward from State Street, the way it presents a stark wall towards the life of the community around it; the way privacy seems to trump all. Would Jacobs have approved of this type of lack of oozing? Was this the sort of delineation — everything in its place — that she would like?

First, the simple history: Dearborn Park, a nice, neat rectangle from Polk Street to a little beyond 15th Street, and from State to Clark, started developing in the 1970s. The neighborhood was nothing but oodles of abandoned railroad tracks and hobos. Run-down skid row structures and the ghastly businesses that pave the way for skid row: dens of vice, pawnshops, shady currency exchanges — you name it.

State Street’s great claim to fame in the area was the Police Headquarters Building (not to mention an adjacent smaller sister building that housed the First District station). There were lots of lock-ups, and courtrooms prosecuting prostitutes and their pimps. There was no good housing stock, there were no good stores — just desolation. And Clark Street was no man’s land.

To attract middle class families to the first phase of the neighborhood, which went up to Roosevelt Road — especially during a time of very high interest rates — prospective buyers had to envision two things: the beauty of living near the Loop and the Lakefront, and a feeling of tight security.

Thus, the homes turned away from State Street, allowing little access via vehicle — and not even so much via foot. The city street grid got somewhat axed within the new neighborhood, and it became pods of town homes and strips of buildings surrounding mews, parks, pools and private parking.

It worked, and Phase two began about a decade later, extending the concept to 15th Street and even a little beyond. As the neighborhood improved, the housing “opened up.” My own home at Roosevelt and State faces State (not to mention Roosevelt) and a locked wrought iron front gate delineates the public/private in a way that Jacobs would approve, I believe. I think my neighbors feel safe, while still being open to the incredible diversity of every kind that our corner offers: both people and purpose.

But many South Loop residents today complain about the lack of access through both phases of Dearborn Park from east to west and vice versa. And they don’t like the walls that seem to say today, now that things in the neighborhood are built up, well-populated and thriving, “Keep Out!”

What struck me most about the recent online comments is the fervor among some to “tear down this wall.” But the walls are the walls of the housing. On the other side of the walls along State Street — quite literally — are people’s bedrooms, bathrooms, family rooms, patios and kitchens. They can’t be torn down or cut through. They are there to stay.

Although there have been improvements in terms of the wall aesthetics in recent years, the look is not perfect. The State Street brick barrier is becoming more and more well-planted with variously sized and colored plantings, but there are gaps that make a sorry statement filled with gravel and muddy rubble. Still, the efforts and the progress have been quite respectable of late, and I know the neighbors in every direction appreciate it.

But what about opening some of the gates and mews to form small streets, or at least public pedestrian paths from State to Clark? Would that be appropriate?

Interestingly, I am quoted in the comments on the aforementioned blog by a commenter who dug up an old article on the subject. I can’t remember where the quote came from (the commenter doesn’t say). I do recall being interviewed through the years when this subject has come up in the Chicago Journal, the Columbia Chronicle, the Sun-Times, the Tribune, and other publications which escape me now.

But this is what I said at some point in the past in favor of leaving Dearborn Park well enough alone: “Dearborn Park [has] a certain serenity even though we’re in the heart of everything.”

I think what I said has stood the test of time. Some can take issue. But in this day and age, we have to grab for the serenity wherever it is. If you got it, don’t give it up. Don’t push us around, outside world. Jane Jacobs, urban critics, urban planners and anyone else notwithstanding, whether you approve or disapprove, I stand by my comment. At least for now.