MALL MAKEOVER; VALLEY VENUES DEVELOP LIFE OF THEIR OWN.

Byline: Glenn Whipp and Gregory J. Wilcox Staff Writers

Some people in America think that - fershur! - the modern-day mall originated in the San Fernando Valley.

While the Valley can rightfully claim some modern-day mall lore, it is not the cradle of the concept. We simply elevated malls to an art form.

In fact, the concept dates back to the middle ages - remember the market-place scenes in ``Shakespeare in Love''?

One of the first shopping centers ever built is still in business today. It's the collection of little shops along the Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge that spans the Arno River in Florence, Italy, that first opened for business in the 16th century.

Shopping centers in the United States trace their modern roots to 1922 and the developer J.C. Nichols' Country Club Plaza in Kansas City, Mo. And for those not in the business, shopping centers are defined as a clustering of retail outlets on one property in which shoppers are exposed to the elements while going from store to store.

Malls - that is, enclosed shopping centers - date back to 1956, and the Southdale Center in Edina, Minn., a suburb of Minneapolis. It was the first fully enclosed mall to offer shoppers a climate-controlled environment.

Today's shopping centers are a product of Americans fleeing crowded cities for the spaciousness of the suburbs. These people needed somewhere to browse, so - voila! - the mall. (Of course, in Southern California, the process of fleeing has never stopped. Suburbanites leave one urban sprawl to create another.)

Downtown Los Angeles actually used to be a shopping destination. Anchored by palatial department stores and stately movie houses, Angelenos would flock downtown on weekends. These days, only those people looking to score a deal on an engagement ring or designer frock venture that way, and the city all but shuts down after 5 in the afternoon.

Suburbia killed downtown, here and across America. And the only way many cities have managed to revive their once thriving urban areas is - You guessed it - build a new mall full of bells and whistles, family friendly restaurants and movie theaters with stadium seating.

In the Valley, the Panorama Mall in Panorama City began the shopping center craze in the early 1950s, led by a Broadway department store that is now (naturally) a Wal-Mart. Sherman Oaks' Fashion Square followed in 1960; the Topanga Plaza came along in 1964.

Amid much show-biz pomp and circumstance, the $30 million Topanga Plaza became one of the key elements of the $400 million Warner Center development.

Buster Keaton, then the honorary mayor of Woodland Hills, dropped by the opening-day festivities and David May II, vice president of May Co., a principal investor in the plaza, arrived with his three granddaughters in a stage coach.

The plaza, with 80 stores and three anchor tenants, was lauded as California's retail centerpiece. It was where Debbie Reynolds went on her shopping spree in the Bud Yorkin movie ``Divorce American Style.''

Shoppers soon became accustomed to walking into the mall and catching Zsa Zsa Gabor hosting a fashion show. Even new stores openings were a big deal, sometimes featuring Dodger players or Playboy Bunnies like Miss March 1964 Nancy Scott.

Topanga Plaza did not have the mall stage to itself for very long.

The Fallbrook Mall in West Hills completed the '60s mall explosion.

The difference between the Panorama Mall and Fashion Square and its successors wasn't so much character as atmosphere. Beginning in the 1960s, shoppers seemed to derive wonder from enclosed atmospheres. You left your home to find yourself in . . . another, bigger domicile where you could shop in a comfortable, constant climate of 72 degrees.

That was a godsend for Valley shoppers, especially during one of those summer heat jags where temperatures hovered in the triple digits for what seemed like weeks (or months) on end. To compete, Panorama enclosed its mall in 1980; Fashion Square grudgingly followed a decade later.

Northridge's Fashion Center perfected the enclosed mall formula, opening in 1971 with four huge anchor department stores, a food court, information center and a play area for the kids. They even built enclosed parking structures so Valley shoppers could avoid first-degree burns when they returned to their cars.

Designers gave the center a futuristic feel and people visited the sprawling facility as much to check out the way it looked as to shop in the stores.

But it was the Glendale Galleria that made the shopping mall a Zen experience. Opening during America's bicentennial year, the Galleria was (and remains) an exaltation of consumerism and capitalism, the likes of which had never before been seen. More than 6,300 covered parking spaces. A Nordstrom department store. Surfboards hanging from the ceiling. This wasn't just a mall for the Valley. This was a mall for America, a tourist destination for visitors willing to venture inside and discover suburban shopping trends.

Four years later, Sherman Oaks opened its own Galleria and the cycle was nearly complete. When the mall opened in November 1980, only 21 of its 122 stores were ready for business. Many of the delays were due to difficulty in meeting special city regulations put in place because of the mall's open-air design.

Still, thousands of people visited the facility during the opening weekends, drawn by its cutting-edge design as well as the two largest tenants, May Co. and Robinson's.

After a dysfunctional first year, the $100 million-plus complex exploded - omigod! - into America's consciousness in 1982 when Moon Unit Zappa recorded a hit song called ``Valley Girl.'' (A movie, starring Nicolas Cage, followed a year later.)

The satirical tune (how else do you take the lyric: ``Encino is so bitchen''?) turned the Sherman Oaks Galleria into an icon, a place to see and be seen and spawned a new way of talking, Valspeak, that emphasized monotone nasality. (Think of today's surf slang and you're halfway there.)

Initially, being the capital of the Vals was a plus for the mall.

``It was a big tourist destination,'' says Trisha King, co-author of the perennial shopping tome ``Buying Retail Is Stupid.'' ``People from all over went to the Galleria. They wanted to see if the song and the movie were for real.''

But some older shoppers didn't particularly like the idea of rubbing shoulders with the teen scene (much less tourists), so the Galleria tried to reinvent its image, never fully succeeding. Nearby Fashion Square remodeled and stole some of its business. Worse, the Galleria began to look dated with its dark gray and burgundy carpets. (Sample complaint: It's, like, so '80s.)

Eventually, Valley residents - like so many other Americans - came full circle, preferring to shop at quaint, suburban downtown centers (like Burbank's Media Center area or the new strip in Montrose) or go the discount route at behemoths like Wal-Mart, Costco, Target and Sam's Club.

``Most malls now are either high-end or low-end,'' King says. ``There's no middle of the road. The sad part is, people are losing selection.''

Oh, well. There's always the burgeoning cybermalls on the Internet.

As for the Sherman Oaks Galleria, it officially shuttered in March. The one-time teen temple will likely reopen next year as an office complex combined with an outdoor cluster of upscale shops and restaurants. There won't be a roof and Valspeak will be kept to a minimum.

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3 Photos

Photo: (1--2) The movie ``Valley Girl,'' above, etched the mall scene into America's collective consciousness. Pop artist Moon Unit Zappa, right, recorded the hit song ``Valley Girl'' in 1982.

Evan Yee/Staff Photographer

(3) The mall was a godsend for Valley shoppers, especially during summer heat waves, when temperatures hovered in the )triple digits.

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