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I Love cities-of-the-future illustrations from the old pop-culture bin. In "yesterday's tomorrow," they always get things so wonderfully wrong. One of my favorites, from the August 1925 issue of Popular Science Monthly, depicts a heroic cross section of New York's Park Avenue looking to the south from around 47th Street in the far-off sci-fi future of 1950. "Airport landing fields" are denoted on the roof of a building that has replaced the familiar Grand Central Station tower at the end of the vista. A zeppelin hovers over a row of quaint little "aeroplanes" stashed up there. Park Avenue itself has become a pedestrian mall, not a honking Checker Cab in sight. They're all down in a three-level underground tunnel system: one level for slow motor traffic, one for fast, and the lowest for trains and subways. "Spiral escalators" connect all the levels to the street above, and turntable-equipped parking garages occupy the basements of the "half a mile high" skyscrapers that line the avenue.

The illustration is a beautifully rendered black-and-white lithograph, and the layout of this future New York is impeccably rational down to the pneumatic "freight tubes" in the lowest subbasement of the buildings. It expresses every wish of its day about optimal city life to absolute perfection, the engineered efficiency breathtaking. Of course, this vision didn't come to pass. Among other things, it failed to anticipate the effects of the Great Depression, the Second World War, and the massive shift to suburbia afterward, which decanted so much wealth (and so many well-off citizens) out of the cities. About the only thing it got right was that the buildings lining Park Avenue would eventually be a lot bigger.