How Small Grants Make a Difference Examples from the Design Arts Program National Endowment for the Arts Distributed by Partners for Livable Places, a coalition of organizations and individuals whose concerns for livability and quality in the built envi- ronment are reflected in this book. The Partners for Livable Places is a not-for-profit organization partially funded by the National Endowment for the Arts. Design Dick Sisk, The Associates, Inc. Nancy Sisk, The Associates, Inc. Illustration Jeffrey J. Price, The Associates, Inc. How Small Grants Make a Difference Prepared for the Design Arts Program National Endowment for the Arts by Pamela Baldwin Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/howsmallgrantsmaOObald Table of Contents I. Neighborhoods 11 Pittsburgh 13 Savannah 21 Milwaukee 27 Jersey City 33 Boston/Roxbury 37 II. Downtowns 45 Galveston 47 Troy 55 Fernandina Beach 63 D retace On August 3 and 4, 1977, the U.S. House of Representatives’ Subcommittee on the City held hearings on “Livable Cities: How Small Grants Programs Can Make a Difference.” The subcommittee heard witnesses from eight communities who described how small grants from the National Endowment for the Arts had significantly aided their efforts to improve urban neighborhoods and revitalize older downtowns. A little money was made to go a long way. Support by the Endowment ena- bled these groups to think through their projects before they were launched, and made it easier for them to raise money from other sources once they had had a chance to show their seriousness of purpose. The accomplishments of the Endowment’s grantees are a good example of how a Federal agency can help urban communities to help themselves, when it keeps red tape to a minimum, encourages community initiative, and is sensitive to local conditions and willing to take risks. I am pleased that the Endowment has decided to publish this pamphlet, which features the projects presented in testimony before the subcommittee. Henry S. Reuss Introduction What makes a “livable” city? What makes a city or town a place where people enjoy being and where they take pride in their community? Answers to this question range as widely as the variety of cities and towns themselves. For some, a livable city is one where temperatures stay above freezing all year, and sunshine invites outdoor recreation. For others, a wealth of good restaurants (preferably open all night long) is required. Some urban dwellers cite attractive green parks as the features they like best in town, while still others speak of the local art museum, the symphony orchestra or the university. Virtually everyone can agree that the perfect city, if it existed, would meet certain universal requirements. The city would have a viable economy, offering its residents the opportunity to earn a living. City-dwellers could move about the community with relative convenience and freedom from fear. The urban envi- ronment would be healthful and clean. Smaller communities within the city — neighborhoods — would offer a feeling of belonging, a community of families and individuals who knew and cared about each other. Basic services would be available — decent schools, health care facilities, emergency help, trash collec- tion. The cost of living would remain within the bounds of manageability for even the lowest-paid residents. The city would be pleasant to look at — not just around the places tourists visit, but in the areas known only to those who live there. And finally, the city's heritage, the architecture, written records and works of art that tell the story of its evolution, would be known, appreciated and protected from callous destruction. That is the ideal. Too often, when we compare this image with the real condi- tion of our cities, the discrepancy is so great that we despair of our ability to provide even the minimum conditions for livable places. When crime rises, schools fail, jobs disappear, buildings deteriorate, grime accumulates and people lose heart, where do we begin? How can we possibly tackle all these problems simultaneously, with limited resources, and make any difference? Why have past efforts, costing billions of dollars, failed so miserably? Where does the ultimate responsibility for our cities and towns lie — with the federal government, the states, or the municipalities themselves? Is it with government at all, or with private individuals, businesses and organizations? The National Endowment for the Arts has chosen to approach the problems of the cities with the idea that small efforts can make a difference, and the record produced over several years’ experience with a small Endowment grant program bears this out. Perhaps the old saying that “necessity is the mother of invention” applies here. Certainly, the Arts Endowment would not have been in a position to invest millions upon millions in urban projects in any case. But within its funding limitations, the Endowment has chosen to concentrate on areas where it could help most, on projects that have grown out of indigenous spirit and captured the imaginations of those in a position to implement them. Typically, Endowment grants for city-related design and planning activities have provided the all-important link between an idea’s early conceptualization and its actual implementation; they have made detailed planning possible. This publication describes a number of specific cases in which Endowment grants have made a difference in America’s cities. Beginning with the premise that the arts can play an important role in creating livable cities, the Endowment’s urban grants programs — administered through its Design Arts Program — have concentrated from the beginning on the creation or enhance- ment of urban amenities. “We seek to encourage people to dream about their cities, to think before they build, not after; to consider the alternatives before they tear down,” says Liv Biddle, Chairman of the Arts Endowment. Much more than “beautification” is involved in Endowment-sponsored urban programs. Always, the relationship between the specific design project at hand and the larger issues of urban life — economics, jobs, even the city’s very survival — is kept in mind by administrators and grantees alike. In awarding grants, the Arts Endowment has always looked for ideas that reflect creativity, attract broad community support, and appear promising for implementation. On the other hand, since each community can best choose the vision it wishes to pursue, the Endowment does not require applicants to follow specific detailed guidelines. Those seeking funding are asked to explain simply and clearly, on a one-page form, the projects they wish to undertake. Community support must be demonstrated with written endorsements and through the even more tangible evidence of funds from other sources to match the Endowment's contribution. The Design Arts Program began awarding grants in 1967; since then, over 1,200 individuals and organizations have received more than $14 million in grants. “City Edges,” the initial urban-theme grant program, was inaugurated in 1973. As its name suggested, that first program focused on the edges of urban settlements, whether literally at their political boundaries, or on waterfronts, in transitional areas between different sections of cities, or even — in the case of one imaginative New York City project — on its rooftops. The second thematic approach was called “City Options,” and encouraged a broad range of efforts to nurture the cultural and human environment in cities. That program evolved in turn into “Cityscale,” which concentrated on the little things that make a city pleasant — the design of signs, street lighting, benches, and the like. For the Bicentennial Year, the Arts Endowment added a grant category called American Architectural Heritage. Under that program, matching grants totalling half a million dollars aided planning for 37 projects to revitalize older neighborhoods and downtown commercial districts in American cities and towns. The Bicentennial grant program reflected the nation’s growing interest in neighborhood conservation, a field the Endowment had already supported by co-sponsoring a major conference in the fall of 1975. Finally, with fiscal year 1978, all these programs were synthesized into a comprehensive approach called “Livable Cities,” for that was the common theme of them all. The theme programs will be phased out by 1980, and replaced by more general granting categories which will support the Program's long-term commitment to design research, design communications, and design demonstrations. By Federal standards, all grants made under the Endowment’s urban pro- grams have been small; no stipend has exceeded $50,000, and the average is some $22,000. It is all the more remarkable, then, that the projects they helped fund have generated millions of dollars in private investment and government or foundation grants, and that the plans developed with Endowment funds have been translated into reality in many cases. This volume tells the stories behind a few of those successes. The accounts follow two general lines — first, enhancing life in neighborhoods (through physical restoration in some cases, simply by encouraging awareness of existing amenities in others), and second, improving downtowns, the commercial and industrial foundations of communities. Several communities — Galveston, Texas; Savannah, Georgia; Troy, New York; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; and Fernandina Beach, Florida — have used Endowment grants to carry out projects in historic preservation and adaptive re-use of older buildings. In none of these cities did preservation aim at a museum-like product designed only for tourists and school-children's field trips. Rather, the efforts described all sought to integrate preservation into the con- temporary vitality of the community, to use the properties preserved as means of providing for people’s real needs ranging from jobs to housing to shopping. These examples demonstrate that the historic preservation movement in the United States has matured and proven its importance, thanks to imaginative groups like the Savannah Landmarks Rehabilitation Project, the Galveston His- torical Society and Galveston County Cultural Arts Council, and many others — including the National Trust for Historic Preservation. The Trust was a frequent funding partner with the Endowment in the urban grants projects described here. Grantees have also proven that arts and amenities are not luxuries sought and appreciated only by an elite few. People of all economic, social and racial groups have benefitted from Endowment-funded projects. In Jersey City, ten- ants in a public housing project found new pride in the upkeep of their homes, helped by an active tenant organization and an Endowment-funded artistic proj- ect that brightened their previously-deary halls. In Roxbury, Massachusetts, black residents learned about the proud history of their neighborhoods and forebears and mobilized to save some historic neighborhood architectural sym- bols. Spanish-speaking residents of Milwaukee, Wisconsin grew more aware of the architectural heritage and the sound stability of their section of the city. And in Savannah, a large-scale neighborhood restoration project was carefully de- signed to avoid resident displacement and improve the quality of housing for low-income families. In her classic study of American cities, sociologist Jane Jacobs noted, “Vital cities have marvelous innate abilities for understanding, communicating, contriv- ing and inventing what is required to combat their difficulties.” That thought con- veys the underlying philosophy of the National Endowment for the Arts’ Livable Cities granting category. The imagination and invention come from the local citizens and their government, not from Washington. The Arts Endowment is proud of its ability to help, but remains mindful that the solutions to the problems will come from the cities and communities themselves. Michael John Pittas Director Design Arts Program National Endowment for the Arts ; 2 i\' ’ fi \JH w J ( A j 3 fyJer > A V J \ >«\] fefSB it.. *5f \~hfj ** '! - _ \\ v] -Wji y i T L ' ,» 1 ns Kr\ xSrfy utr'nli 1-5 il / 1 ' JdSSKKmmi^m i”‘/w 1 Pittsburgh 1/l/e believe that a city can be a work of art, constantly recreated each moment of each day as one of the most intricate and potentially beautiful of human constructions. The architecture of the city can symbolize that. Yet, the city is not a museum piece; it must survive on economics as well as pleasurable human interplay. Arthur R Ziegler, Jr., President Pittsburgh History & Landmarks Foundation ittsburgh’s past— manifest in so many of its finer buildings— naturally occupies the time and attention of the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation. Not so readily expected is the Foundation’s sensitive concern for the living city of today— its economy, its cultural life, its physical environment, and above all, its people. Through careful use of limited financial resources, the History and Landmarks Foundation has melded its two interests into an active program of historic preservation and urban revitalization that has begun to make a substan- tial mark on the face of contemporary Pittsburgh. The National Endowment for the Arts supports the Foundation’s efforts with enthusiasm and takes pride in noting how small grants, matched with funds from other sources and infused with hard work from dedicated community leaders, have sparked large projects whose ripple effects far exceed early expectations. The Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation educates the public about the city’s heritage through publications, lectures, tours, scholarly studies and cooperative programs with the public schools. The Foundation works with plan- ners, city government officials and building owners to restore important struc- tures, sometimes by purchasing them. Where it cannot save a whole building, it often manages to retrieve the bits and pieces of architectural detail which characterize important styles, so that they may be reused or at least remem- bered through museum display. Since its founding in 1964, ‘Landmarks has sponsored or assisted in restora- tion projects involving investments of $68 million. Recently the Foundation began a massive effort involving a mixture of new construction and restoration of terminal and warehouse buildings previously used by the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad. On completion, the Station Square complex will provide a hotel, a large assortment of retail shops, 350,000 square feet of office space, restau- rants and entertainment opportunities, a residential community of over 1,000 rental and condominum apartments, and such amenities as a marina, a park, an outdoor marketplace and a variety of industrial and transportation artifacts like historic trolley cars. Demolition. The project looks like success even before completion. The path which led to Station Square has, however, known setbacks and failures as well; in fact, these early experiences may have been a necessary part of the Founda- tion’s maturation. Earlier efforts to save another railroad building provided im- portant lessons in the realities of urban economics although those who sought its restoration were left disappointed. That building— a Baltimore and Ohio warehouse — was the object of the National Endowment for the Arts’ first grant to the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation, awarded in 1973. The Landmarks Foundation learned two things from that first Endowment- 13 funded study — first, that although his- toric preservation often aids urban re- vitalization, successes in that goal depends on a balanced economic equation; second, that objective re- search often leads to conclusions that contradict the hopes and preconcep- tions with which a study begins. Noting the successful conversion of derelict commercial and industrial buildings to modern uses in other cities, the Foundation had looked for a way to do the same with the river- front railroad warehouse in Pittsburgh. The organization’s restoration expert reported hopefully, “One has only to think how similar structures — the even more intractable cannery in San Francisco or the Cot- ton Wharves at Savannah — have been transformed into glamorous shopping arcades, vaulted restau- rants, and quasi-marine pleasure- lands, to envision a similar metamor- phosis here.” The Baltimore & Ohio warehouse, built between 1913 and 1917, had never brought architectural pilgrims to view its beauty. Even so, it was, in the words of the Foundation’s research director, "one of the most brutal and yet the most handsome buildings in Pittsburgh ... a real document of Pittsburgh architectural brawn.” The first two stories, raised in 1913, were of steel, while the upper five floors added in 1917 represented an early application of reinforced concrete technology. The building's facade was especially interesting because of classical cornices and pediments that softened its concrete “bones.” “It is just this contrast, this ambiquity,” said a Pittsburgh History and Landmarks report to the Endowment, “that consti- tutes so enormously the architectural interest of the building.” - The Foundation hoped to transform the railroad building into a lively center of shops, restaurants, indoor parking, and apartment residences for 127 households. If successful, the project might ward off the bulldozers of the city’s Urban Redevelopment Authority and begin a chain reaction of revitalization in the surrounding neighborhood of warehouses, lofts, filling stations and railroad tracks. With only $3,800 of the Endowment’s funds and $5,000 added from other sources, a team of architects, engineers and economists put together by the History and Landmarks Foundation studied the B&O railroad building’s structural soundness, fitness for reuse, and po- tential return on investment. The Foundation’s view, from the outset, was that the renovation project must prove justifiable on a “market basis” — that is, without special sub- sidies or grants to shore up a shaky investment. At the end of the 13-month study, the research team reluctantly con- cluded that their vision for the waterfront warehouse could not be realized. Although located directly across the river from Pittsburgh’s downtown area, the building was too “isolated psychologically and physi- cally” from the economic center of the city to attract residents or businesses. Furthermore, the irregular hexagonal shape of the building would make it difficult to divide into living units of manageable and attractive sizes, and parking space would be especially dif- ficult and expensive to accommodate inside the structure (the only available place on the site). Finally, high con- struction costs for conversion would permit only a five per cent rate of re- turn on investment — too small to jus- tify the risk. 14 NEIGHBORHOODS The History and Landmarks Foun- dation decided that reuse of the build- ing was not feasible without major subsidies, and it was razed. Disap- pointing as this result was to those who worked to save it, it had the un- expected benefit of expediting plan- ning for a major redevelopment proj- ect in the surrounding area. Pittsburgh’s business and planning community, impressed by the objec- tivity of the B&O warehouse study, took the Foundation seriously there- after as a positive force for new investment in the city. The Foundation had also gained increased respect from the National Endowment for the Arts through the honest approach it took to the railroad building’s future. A second grant ap- plication was successful in 1975, when the Foundation proposed to undertake an activity centering more around people and their neighbor- hoods than around buildings. Neighborhood Design and Plan- ning. Arthur Ziegler, Landmark’s president, understood that com- munities, like people, need healthy, positive self-images if they are to thrive. Neighborhoods need identities, and symbols to express them. Resi- dents must have a sense of the strengths and weaknesses of their local institutions and must involve themselves in their betterment. The impetus for change and improvement must come from the citizens them- selves, rather than from remote offi- cials of bureaucratic agencies. Ziegler saw a way for the Founda- tion, with its ten years’ experience in neighborhood restoration programs, to serve as a catalyst in this process. Using just under $30,000 of money from the National Endowment for the Arts and matching dollars from The Hillman Foundation, Inc., the group initiated a program of self-planning and neighborhood exhibits in four Pittsburgh-area communities. The four neighborhoods are as var- ied as any in the Pittsburgh area. There is the North Side, a decayed but reawakening area with striking remnants of its 19th-century past. It was once a city in its own right, called Allegheny, with pleasant streets and attractive homes. There is Allentown, a hillside working-class neighborhood overlooking downtown Pittsburgh, where a stable but graying population has kept alive a strong community feeling but where the business district shows signs of seediness which idle teenagers have hastened through vandalism. There is Glenfield, a small town nine miles from the center of Pittsburgh where community survival itself is at stake, thanks to an inter- state highway that has bisected the town and wiped out the entire busi- ness district, half of Glenfield’s homes, and an equal portion of its real estate tax revenues. Finally, there is Shadyside, a primarily upper- middle-class residential neighborhood with some pockets of blight where the Foundation briefly explored commu- nity identity through local school- children. In each of the first three neighbor- hoods, the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation encouraged residents to lead in planning a project that would publicize the area’s history, describe its strengths and weaknes- ses today, establish goals for im- provement, and create an action plan for dealing with immediate needs. PITTSBURGH 15 The various ways the neighborhoods responded to the opportunity reflect the differences in the communities themselves. All the neighborhoods began by holding open community meetings and conducting surveys which showed a consensus about the best and worst features of life in the area. The North Side is actually far more than a neighborhood; as a former city (annexed to Pittsburgh in 1907) it is comprised of many neighborhoods. That fact created some problems for landmarks since residents tended to identify with the smaller-scale districts and found it difficult to share common concerns with those living in other parts of the North Side. On the other hand, its large area and population meant that the North Side possessed all the resources needed to solve its problems, and past struggles to ward off demolition teams and rebuild the old city’s business district had left ex- perienced community organizations. Community meetings held by Land- marks staff revealed that North Side residents wanted most of all to pub- licize the existence of these commu- nity resources and improve the area's public image. Any self-respecting community needs a name it can be proud of. “North Side,” which came into use after annexation to Pittsburgh, em- phasizes feelings of dependency and incompleteness. In recent years, as the area has begun to emerge from its doldrums and recall its more dis- tant past, the name “Allegheny” has been revived and reapplied to the area. The History and Landmarks Foundation and the residents it worked with sought to reinforce the Allegheny identity. The residents de- cided to use the Endowment and Hillman Foundation funds to publish two books about Allegheny: one a glossy, richly-illustrated story of its history, architecture and current-day potential; the other a simpler directory of community resources. Allegheny, as the former publica- tion is titled, recalls the peak of the old city’s proud history: "Old Allegheny" is possibly the most nostalgic name in Pittsburgh. Immedi- ately it conjures up longings for the magnificent Allegheny Market House, Boggs & Buhl's Department Store, Ober Park with its marvelous fountain, the great houses of Ridge Avenue and the more modest, yet very substantial, Vic- torian houses of Manchester and the Mexican War Streets. People remember the colorful neighborhoods of Old Allegheny, each with its own unique identity.. . The book goes on to list some of Allegheny’s famous sons and daughters, people like Andrew Car- negie, H. J. Heinz (the ketchup man), Gertrude Stein and Willa Cather. It was at Allegheny that Carnegie learned as a boy to love reading in a small private library, and then came back years later to commission the first of hundreds of Carnegie Libra- ries. Carnegie and his contemporaries surely knew the large Italianate houses of the more affluent streets in Allegheny, and the magnificent river- front exhibition halls built for the Pittsburgh Exposition of 1875. They might, if they were here to tell it, recall the massive public works project that shifted the tracks of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne & Chicago Railroad from grade level to a depressed right-of- way with overpasses for local streets. They would have seen the construc- tion of the courthouse and numerous schools in the “Richardson Romanesque” style of architect H. H. Richardson, as well as houses and institutions of Greek Revival de- 16 NEIGHBORHOODS sign. Their day has left modern Allegheny with examples of Gothic Revival and Italian Renaissance build- ings, and even a few splendid exam- ples of Elizabethan, French and Flemish Renaissance structures. Landscape architecture flourished, too; the old cattle-grazing Commons around which Allegheny grew be- came a carefully designed Victorian park in 1867, while the Allegheny “Diamond,” the town square sur- rounded by the Carnegie Library, the market, the court house and post of- fice, became a favorite strolling place. In highlighting this eclectic architec- tural heritage as well as the civic clubs and cultural activities that flourished among Allegheny’s diverse 19th-century ethnic groups, the Al- legheny book has clearly contributed to the rebirth of community pride. Landmarks has helped Allegheny in other ways, too — not the least being its restoration of the old Italianate post office to serve as the Founda- tion’s headquarters and as a Pittsburgh historical museum. "We could think of no other way of saving it except by buying it ourselves and occupying it as our home,” recalls Foundation Chairman Charles Covert Arensberg in the book's Foreward. The Foundation’s sensitive interest in place names also resulted in the coining of the term “Mexican War Streets” to describe an area whose Spanish street names reflected its birth just after that otherwise unpopu- lar war. The Mexican War Streets neighborhood is now a historic district where many young people are buy- ing, restoring and living in fine old houses under a program started by Landmarks. The History and Landmarks Foun- dation’s only major regret about the Allegheny neighborhood awareness project was that too few people saw a r mr. <• • ----- THE ORANO OPEXINQ Of THE NEW need and an opportunity to become actively involved at the time. Since then, however, the project’s legacy — the Allegheny book and the resource directory — have helped to provide the impetus for broader participation in efforts to revitalize “Allegheny” and bury the “North Side” image. Al- legheny today is, in Arthur Ziegler’s words, “on the move, full of pride, op- timism and workers.” Allentown, unlike Allegheny, has never lost its name or its pride. It has, however, experienced the early symptoms of a neighborhood in decline — a loss of 31% of its popula- tion between 1965 and 1970, and a near-total lack of new construction during the same period. Shopkeepers along Warrington Avenue, Allentown’s main street, began moving to new shopping centers and leaving empty storefronts to window-breakers and graffiti artists. Yet to the 5,000 resi- dents who remain, Allentown con- tinues to be a friendly place with a small-town atmosphere. In a survey of opinions about Allentown’s best features, residents mentioned this special quality more often than any other characteristic. When the History and Landmarks staff went to Allentown to propose community action, the Foundation found two essential tools already in place: a local weekly newspaper and a neighborhood organization called the Hilltop Civic Improvement Associ- ation looking for a program. Spread- ing the word about community meet- ings was therefore easier than in Allegheny, and higher attendance resulted. PITTSBURGH 17 An enthusiastic group of residents conducted a walking and picture- taking tour of Allentown in order to learn more about its history and archi- tecture, as well as its current prob- lems. When the resulting photographs proved effective at telling the Allen- town story, they were blown up and organized into a neighborhood exhibit mounted and staffed by volunteers from the community. A vacant storefront served as the exhibit hall, and between the opening reception attended by over 100 persons and closing day a month later, many Allen- town residents wandered in and out learning and thinking about their part of Pittsburgh. Allentown, too, published a book about itself as part of its neighbor- hood planning project. The Allentown book differs from Allegheny’s in that it focuses on specific problems — public image, transportation, recreation, business district decay, police protec- tion and so forth. For each, there is a description of the problem, an as- sessment of its magnitude, a list of measures already taken to solve it, and suggestions from the Founda- tion’s staff for further improvement. Two examples merit specific mention here. To counteract the decline of War- rington Avenue, the Foundation sug- gested that local merchants take advantage of low-interest loans avail- able to small businesses and adminis- tered by the city for the renovation of their stores; the staff even designed a specific inexpensive painting plan to brighten the face of the avenue. The Hilltop Civic Improvement Association was also encouraged to work aggres- sively with local realtors to promote business property in Allentown. The second problem had to do with youthful streetcorner hangers-out who were bothering older Allentown resi- dents and showing their general alienation. Adults in the neighborhood first suggested a recreation center as a remedy — but would anyone use it? An existing center was underused because of racial conflicts and clique rivalry. When staff members talked with the young “toughs” they learned that a place to play basketball and later hours at the local bowling alley were what they really wanted. A bas- ketball league was founded, the bowl- ing alley revised its hours, and some of the youths began attending Civic Improvement Association meetings and participating in local matters. Allentown is a cohesive settlement, a community in the best sense of that word. It is not glamorous, but it is highly “livable.” The Pittsburgh His- tory and Landmarks Foundation, with the help of the Endowment and a pri- vate foundation, have built upon the spirit that was already there. In Glenfield, the spirit itself is en- dangered. For the crime of being lo- cated in a glen along the Ohio River, the federal and state governments have extracted Glenfield’s pound of flesh — its entire downtown, and about half its houses, people and financial base. It is unclear whether the town can survive with such a wound. The very location that makes Glen- field ideal for the river crossing and an interchange of the new Interstate Highway 279 once provided the community’s raison d'etre. In the 19th century Glenfield was known as “Safe Landing,” for flatboats, steamboats and ferries all stopped there. As a market town, Glenfield continued to thrive when the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne & Chicago Railroad (later known as the Pennsy) came through. German immigrants planted the neighboring hills in grapes following the Civil War, and the wines they pro- 18 NEIGHBORHOODS duced were shipped out by both rail and water. Glenfield even knew a brief oil boom in the 1890's. The village suffered a setback in the St. Patrick’s Day Flood of 1936, when over half of Glenfield was inun- dated, and a more serious problem when Route 65 along the Ohio River was enlarged in 1953, requiring the demolition of many downtown busi- nesses. But nothing could compare with the trauma of the 1-279 battle, which began in 1969 and continues to the present; residents long ago gave up trying to stop the highway, but they continue to feel the depression and frustration caused by its construction. A booklet about Glenfield prepared by the Pittsburgh History and Land- marks Foundation as part of its neighborhood planning project de- scribes how life has changed for those who remain in the community: Glenfield residents no longer have a small shopping area in which to buy groceries, they no longer have a Post Office; instead, they must travel to the town of Sewickley to buy their groceries and pick up their mail. School children no longer have a drugstore or a candy- dystore. . . . The Borough hall is gone; town meetings are held in the Fire- house. Even the bus stop has been re- located. Glenfield residents must now negotiate the busy Route 65 in order to catch a bus. Residents fight a constant battle with dirt caused by highway con- struction and road blasting. These problems seem relatively minor when compared with the chal- lenges faced by town officials trying to maintain basic public services. Glen- field’s antiquated water and sewer systems might have been repaired and expanded years ago if the pros- pect of massive condemnation and demolition had not hung over the town. Instead, highway blasting caused several serious breaks in the water line, requiring expenditure of over half a year’s village tax revenues for repairs. The Pittsburgh History and Land- marks Foundation found Glenfield residents to be pleased with many aspects of their community, despite all these problems. Glenfielders par- ticularly liked the warm, friendly at- mosphere, and they were eager to pick up the pieces and go on. They welcomed Landmarks’ assistance in directing them toward positive actions for planning, public facilities funding and new development. Glenfield’s neighborhood exhibit consisted of slides and blown-up pho- tographs which documented the prob- lems caused by 1-279. Staff members prepared a booklet which described these problems and — more importantly — made specific sug- gestions about ways to seek help in planning for the future. The Founda- tion sent copies of the booklet to county, state and regional planning officials who were in a position to help. Still, the Foundation counseled Glenfield officials to consider seeking a merger with another town, or alter- natively to buy services from other jurisdictions, as a means of survival. The town’s elected officials have since sought and received help in preparing a town plan from an urban planning team from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. These three communities in the Pittsburgh metropolitan area share an important characteristic, despite their obvious differences: they are the be- loved homes of their residents. In highlighting the feeling of social iden- tity tied to place and nurturing it in the face of oft-discouraging problems, the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation has captured the most important element in a truly livable city. PITTSBURGH 19 Savannah We support the idea that it is far better, and cheaper we might add, to rehabilitate the sound housing stock that is in most downtown neighborhoods and in Savannah's Victorian District, than to build pub- lic housing projects that are antiseptic, impersonal, and give no sense of neighborhood. Leopold Adler, President Savannah Landmark Rehabilitation Project, Inc. "Neighborhood power" is overcoming and replacing the listless re- sistance of former years. There is a new localism— a new sense of purpose and direction designed to preserve and conserve the life and character of these urban cornerstones, and thus prevent those massive dislocations of the recent past. "Displacement Unsolved," / I American Preservation, I October-November 1977 n Savannah, funds from the National Endowment for the Arts have supported what one might call “second generation” historic preservation — the conserva- tion and restoration of an economically and racially diverse neighborhood. Here, the emphasis lies on protecting low-income residents from displacement as well as on rehabilitating the architecturally interesting buildings they live in. Citizens of Savannah led in the historic preservation movement in the early 1960’s, when most other cities remained preoccupied with large-scale demoli- tion and “renewal.” Recognizing the great architectural value that lay hidden behind decades of dilapidation and neglect in a downtown residential neighbor- hood, a group of prominent local citizens organized as the Historic Savannah Foundation, won recognition from the National Park Service for the area as a historic district, and undertook a number of restoration projects. Today, Savan- nah's historic district is once again an elegant area of gracious and expensive homes of the Federal period and style, as it was when General Sherman marched into the city in 1864 and decided to present it as a Christmas gift to President Lincoln rather than burn it down. The leaders of Historic Savannah, including its president, Leopold Adler (a local investment banker), carried out their work with a missionary sense of the righteousness of their cause. By sparking the restoration of some 800 buildings, they were creating beautiful neighborhoods, causing a boom in the construction industry, increasing the city’s tax base, and developing a widely-recognized tourist attraction. Without their efforts, many buildings in the run-down historic district would have been demolished and replaced with faceless apartment buildings or commercial enterprises. Most were vacant and already condemned when the work began. The successful revitalization of Savannah’s historic district caused the pres- ervation movement to spread to the Victorian area just south of it. A group of Savannahans including Adler and Mary Elizabeth Lattimore Reiter became alarmed, however, at the possibility of massive displacement of low-income per- sons then living in the Victorian neighborhood. They vowed to prevent that dis- placement. The extension of trolley lines southward from downtown in the late 19th 21 century had made it possible for this 45-block section surrounding a large park (which served as a military parade ground during the Civil War) to emerge as Savannah's first suburb — although hardly called that at the time. The Victorian district gained recognition on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974. Victorian district architecture, which dates mainly from the years just fol- lowing the Civil War, falls most com- monly into the category of the “Victo- rian carpenter box" — a highly discrip- tive name for the multi-family wooden structures of simple rectangular pro- portions adorned with gingerbreaded porches, mouldings and entryways. Brick sidewalks and large trees are important exterior amenities. In the second half of the 19th century, work- ing and middle class families oc- cupied the district. Gradually, how- ever, absentee landlordism became the rule, along with the deteriorating conditions and decline in occupants’ economic levels that seem to be the inevitable accompaniments of this ownership pattern. In the Victorian district today, only a fifth of the ap- proximately 1,200 housing units are occupied by their owners. Most ten- ants are black and poor, and many have large families who live in over- crowded conditions in the apartments which divide the buildings. Not all Savannah preservationists shared Adler’s enthusiasm for the Victorian District. To appreciate the District’s value, one had to remember that the city’s heritage included more than one period of history, more than one architectural style, and more than one economic, social and racial group. Furthermore, as the preservation movement came of age in Savannah, it became increasingly clear that preservation itself could cause unde- sirable side effects including the sud- den, sharp increases in value that Adler and Reiter feared would drive out low-income residents of the area being restored. This issue did not arise often in the original historic district, where most residents were already gone before rehabilitation began. But in the Victorian district 92 per cent of the housing units re- mained occupied despite the sub- standard condition of many. This meant that if restoration drove the res- idents out, they might have no alter- native to public housing or even more dilapidated homes farther from their jobs and away from the friendly neighborhoods where many had lived for more than 30 years. Certainly, few of the current occupants could afford to move back into repaired structures with sharply increased rents or selling prices. To solve these problems, Adler created a separate organization, out- side the Historic Savannah Founda- tion, to restore the Victorian District. Thus, the Savannah Landmark Re- habilitation Project was born, with Adler as president and Reiter as ex- ecutive director. They knew that many of the preservation techniques used in the historic district could not be applied to the Victorian district. The most common approach to restoration in the former had been to locate affluent buyers with access to long- term credit who would agree to pro- tect the architectural and historical in- tegrity of a building in repairing it, and would later make their homes in the houses they meticulously restored, inside and out. In the Victorian dis- trict, by contrast, poor residents lacked such access to capital, and other means — dependent on the pub- lic as well as private sector — would have to be found. 22 NEIGHBORHOODS The first step for Adler and the Savannah Landmark group was to es- tablish a board of directors with broad representation of minority and neigh- borhood interests. Current members include an officer of a minority-owned bank, the minister of a predominantly black neighborhood church, spokes- men for various social service organi- zations which operate in the Victorian district, and a broad spectrum of Savannah’s citizens including neigh- borhood representatives. Next, Savannah Landmark needed a small, full-time paid professional staff. In 1975, the National Endowment for the Arts awarded the group a $17,000 grant, to be matched with private do- nations, to finance the three-person staff. The group not only seeks restoration of the Victorian district’s architectural resources, but it is also developing programs which can help neighborhood residents immediately. Already, vacant lots have been con- verted to community gardens where families can plant and harvest in- dividual plots. A club for teenage boys, established by a member of Savannah Landmark’s board, enjoys a variety of activities and trips financed in part through earnings from odd jobs performed for the re- habilitation organization. A sense of neighborhood — so important in any livable city — was evident last year at a Savannah Landmark-sponsored block party which drew 500 people. That block party was held in front of a building Savannah Landmark ac- quired in reasonably good condition. Guests at the gathering helped pick out new paint colors for the exterior of the attractive multi-family residence with graceful highly-decorated porches, large windows, high ceilings, triple-gabled front, and old shade trees. The building exemplifies many amenities which cannot be duplicated in new construction today at a cost even remotely affordable for low- income families. SNAP In June of 1977, rehabilita- tion of the Victorian District began in earnest. By this time, Savannah Landmark had dubbed its effort the Savannah Neighborhood Action Proj- ect, or SNAP. Savannah Landmark plans eventually to rehabilitate 600 housing units for low-income tenants under the auspices of SNAP, leaving the other 600 to be renovated with private capital by middle- and upper- income investors through the more traditional approach to restoration. The result should be a neighborhood of true economic, social and racial diversity. In some cases, it may be- come possible for low-income resi- dents to own their homes; more often, they will have a voice in management through tenant organizations. The first building to be rehabilitated in the SNAP effort is making use of a rather complex web of financial and labor arrangements which depend heavily on federal government sup- port. The effectiveness of at least three national policies regarding jobs and housing will be tested through SNAP and this first structure. Located in an official urban renewal area, the building qualifies for low-interest fed- eral loans established under section 312 of the National Housing Act of 1964 to cover rehabilitation costs. The SAVANNAH 23 work will consist of exterior restora- tion as faithful as possible to the orig- inal appearance, and a complete but economical inside repair job to bring the structure up to building code standards. The result will be three separate, two-story apartments. This first building’s outside is plain except for interesting detail on the entries, windows and roof mouldings. Happily, building restoration is labor-intensive and can provide jobs, as well as housing, for Victorian Dis- trict residents. To realize this poten- tial, Savannah Landmark has re- ceived a grant under the Comprehen- sive Employment Training Act (CETA) which enables the organization to train and employ seven unskilled and seven semi-skilled workers in the re- habilitation process. William Mobley, an experienced teacher from the Savannah Area Minority Contractors Association’s training school for con- struction skills, acts as both instructor and foreman for the apprentice CETA workers on the SNAP project. Those who participate successfully in the project will have the skills they need to find continued employment in the construction field. A third federal program will make it possible for low-income families to live in the upgraded houses. Already, Savannah Landmark has a waiting list for occupancy in the first 15 units of the 100 it has acquired. Realities of construction and maintenance costs — even with federal assistance in both financing and labor — are such that the repaired buildings would still be beyond the means of their current occupants without rent subsidies. Savannah Landmark therefore plans to participate in the program estab- lished under Section 8 of the Com- munity Development Act of 1974, which provides such subsidies. The Department of Housing and Urban Development has approved Savan- nah Landmark's application for $80,000 in subsidies over the first two years. As an alternative to expensive and problemmatical federal funding of public housing, Section 8 simply pays the difference between 25% of a fam- ily’s income and the fair market rent, as set by the Department of Housing and Urban Development. As each residential building in the Victorian District is rehabilitated, Savannah Landmark will need to du- plicate this multi-faceted arrangement or work out a variation to meet the needs of the particular project. Adler and his organization do not claim to have all aspects of the neighborhood displacement problem permanently solved, but they are hopeful that their careful attention to the problem will make the preservation of the Victo- rian District a benefit to all Savanna- hans, not just those who are affluent. To share their experiences with those involved in preservation in other cities, Savannah Landmark re- cently hosted and co-sponsored a conference which addressed "sound alternatives to the tough problems of deterioration and displacement that are occurring in architecturally stable inner city neighborhoods across the United States." The National Endow- ment for the Arts provided funds for the conference, along with a coalition of environmental and minority organi- zations and the National Trust for His- toric Preservation. Also participating were the Pittsburgh History and Landmarks Foundation and the 24 NEIGHBORHOODS Mount Auburn (Cincinnati) Good Housing Foundation. In addition to at- tending panel discussions and speeches on landlord-tenant prob- lems, financing of low-income re- habilitation, neighborhood organiza- tion and other topics, conferees took tours of the Victorian and historic dis- tricts of Savannah, held workshops in the Victorian area, and viewed an Endowment-funded film called “Neighborhoods: Conservation in a Changing Community,” prepared by the Conservation Foundation. Savan- nah Landmark will publish the confer- ence proceedings. With the Victorian District project, Savannah is once again in the fore- front of the maturing historic preser- vation movement. The Savannah Landmarks Rehabilitation Project es- capes the “elitist” label which has on occasion been attached, with justifica- tion, to some preservation efforts. Savannah Landmark’s work indicates, in contrast, that restoration of archi- tecturally important buildings and neighborhoods can help make cities livable for all persons — provided the sensitivity, good sense, cooperation and financial prowess that are re- quired for broad-based historic pres- ervation are exercised abundantly. Leopold Adler believes that while the total rehabilitation effort will cost millions of dollars, the Savannah Neighborhood Action Project could not exist without the administrative support of the National Endowment for the Arts. This small grant, like so many from the Endowment’s Archi- tecture, Planning, & Design Program, thus initiates benefits with a multiplier effect that far exceeds the dollar value of the grant itself. SAVANNAH 25 jk PrMfl | k J y t \4Vr; VI fc »' 1 BPS, ersey City We wish to persist in PROVING that the negative perception sur- rounding the quality of residence for poor people, "welfare recipients" and within public housing is a misconception, based more in fear and convenience than in fact. And that given half a chance and a bit of support, housing for poor persons— even high rise, high density housing— can not only be "decent, safe and sanitary," but more im- portantly, generate a functional sense of community which resounds [with] the difference between "surviving" and living. Jersey City Housing Authority's Grant Application to the National Endowment for the Arts ustaining an emerging spirit of tenant pride and involvement in the management of a public housing project — that was the challenge facing the Jersey City Hous- ing Authority in 1977. A small grant from the National Endowment for the Arts helped by giving a resident artist the opportunity to create a massive outdoor mural, a colorful symbol that promised to complete an already-successful rede- sign of the project’s open spaces. Providing decent housing for low-income persons is one of the most challeng- ing tasks facing city governments. Since 1937, cities have worked in partnership with the federal government to house poor people. For many years, the ac- cepted approach was to construct low-cost publicly-owned housing; that policy, which lasted until the emphasis shifted to rent subsidies in the early 1970’s, changed the face of our inner cities. In place of rows of wooden tenements that sprang up in the years of rapid immigration and industrialization, massive apartment houses were built grouped together in “projects” that were often iso- lated from shopping areas and essential services. In the early years of public housing most tenants had jobs and reasonable expectations of escape from poverty. In the 1950’s and early 1960’s, however, the least fortunate American urban dwellers — welfare recipients, unemployed, disabled or unskilled workers, blacks and other minorities, and single-parent families — became the predominant public housing population. When this hap- pened the typical project’s economic (and often racial) homogeneity made pub- lic housing an instant ghetto, and the hopelessness of its tenants was reflected in the carelessness and vandalism that scarred the buildings and in the violence inflicted on many residents. The A. Harry Moore public housing project in Jersey City, New Jersey offered a classic example of all these ills in 1973. Only four years later, however, the Moore project had become a place where the local housing authority’s repairs to walls and windows could be counted on to stay repaired, where a sense of community had grown up in place of indifference, and an aesthetic appreciation showed up in the dramatic improvement to the project’s exterior spaces and other public areas, including hallways. While the inherent problems of large- scale public housing had not disappeared altogether from the Moore project — tenants remained poor, unemployed and racially segregated — the Jersey City Housing Authority together with the tenants had proven that deterioration, van- dalism and danger were not inevitable side-effects of public housing. Two key elements in this transformation were tenant involvement in decision-making and use of art to build community pride. 33 The A. Harry Moore public housing project was built in 1953, at the peak of post-war activity in the public hous- ing field. Sited on the swampland and bounded by a large park, a cemetery, a highway, and a white working-class neighborhood, the project consists of several brick buildings of twelve stories each, arranged in a mis- shapen circle. Its 664 apartments range in size from one to four bed- rooms. They are populated by 2,300 persons, including 1,800 children — about three children under 18 for every adult. Approximately 80% of the tenants are black, while 15% are Spanish-speaking and 4% are whites of other ethnic backgrounds. About three-quarters of the families in the Moore project receive some form of public assistance, and most are headed by single adults, usually women. Robert Rigby, executive director of the Jersey City Housing Authority, described the condition of Moore in 1973 as “rancid.” He went on, in Con- gressional testimony, to detail its hor- rors: “Its grounds, banal asphalt and dirt; interior public spaces, vandalized beyond recognition; evidence of main- tenance, totally absent; infested heaps of garbage and debris, com- monplace; the putrid stench of urine, ever present; lighting, abyssmal.” Constant breakage had led Rigby’s predecessor to replace stairway win- dows with steel plates, making the stairs dark 24 hours a day. As evi- dence of the repugnance of the place to eligible tenants, 160 apartments lay vacant. Against incredible odds, Rigby and his director of tenant services, Arthur Pugh, determined to break the cycle of vandalism and decay. They knew that public expenditure for repairs would be wasted unless the Moore project's residents were willing to take on the responsibility of making the improvements last. Beginning with a few concerned tenants, the Housing Authority began an organizing effort — apartment by apartment, floor by floor, building by building. Soon each building had a tenant organiza- tion; later, representatives from each building formed a tenant council for the whole project. Striking a bargain with each build- ing organization, the Authority prom- ised to repair all public spaces within the buildings — entrances, hallways, stairwells and lobbies — if the tenant groups would work actively to main- tain them and prevent their van- dalism. The tenants were also given the opportunity to choose paint colors for the hallways, which changed overnight from drab and peeling to bright and colorful. Stair windows were soon in place, along with new doors, lobby mailboxes and brick lobby walls. A full year after the repair work was completed, the Authority knew it had won its gamble, because all the improvements were still intact. “To have executed rehabilitation was one matter,” said Rigby. “To sus- tain the work, through the efforts of the tenant organizations, was a qual- itatively different plane of success; the improbable had become undeni- able fact.” In 1975, the Jersey City Housing Authority noticed another kind of im- provement occurring, this time en- tirely through the residents’ initiative. The bright but plain walls of the hall- ways had inspired a number of artistically-bent tenants to create imaginative and beautiful murals and super-graphics in place of the graffiti that had marred them earlier. Tenant organizations began sponsoring' mural contests. At the same time, re- dedications of the buildings and their new decorations became major social events and led to other happenings, such as Christmas plays, bake sales and gospel sings. One young tenant, 18-year-old Tony Wofford, turned up often as the win- ner of mural competitions. A recent high school graduate, Wofford works full time as a clerk in a clothing store to support his mother and siblings. 34 NEIGHBORHOODS After hours, he plays the saxophone, does missionary work for his Jehovah's Witness church, and paints murals. He hopes to attend art school someday. The building improvements made the housing complex’s grounds look even bleaker than before, by contrast. But success on the inside gave the Housing Authority courage to try a large-scale improvement on the out- side, again using the tenant organiza- tion as planners, participants and protectors. The tenants' council, the Authority and the award-winning Cleveland architecture firm of Don M. Nishaka and Associates produced a number of different design options and invited all A. Harry Moore resi- dents to vote for the designs they wanted to see in their community. An incredible 711 of 934 eligible voters turned out and chose designs for new light fixtures, trees, grassy areas, “tot lots” with playground equipment, a central recreation area with a sunken basketball court, and a pavillion for community celebrations and open-air meetings. Soon, the exterior im- provements were complete; a year later, they remained intact. When the mayor of Jersey City came to stroll through the grounds of the Moore project and view the im- provements, he was startled by a six-year-old boy who said to him, "Hey, man, get off the grass!” Clearly, A. Harry Moore tenants of all ages had taken on a proprietary interest in their neighborhood. After all this accomplishment, it was only natural that a slight let-down feel- ing set in in 1977. What more could be done? How could people's interest be sustained? Together, the tenant council and the Housing Authority came up with an idea, inspired once again by a blank wall waiting to be decorated. This time, the wall was a 60-foot long, 15-foot high retaining wall that bordered the new sunken basketball court. This wall could bear the biggest, grandest mural on the site. And the person to paint it was Tony Wofford. This idea fit in well with the “City- scale” grant program of the National Endowment for the Arts’ Architecture and Environmental Arts Division. The Jersey City Housing Authority applied to the Endowment in 1977 and re- ceived a $10,000 grant to cover the cost of materials and a small stipend for Wofford. As with the earlier im- provements, the A. Harry Moore ten- ants will determine the final mural de- sign, choosing from a number of sketches prepared by Wofford, who will then execute the final painting. The Housing Authority recently formalized tenant activism in the complex by offering property man- agement training to members of the new A. Harry Moore Tenant Man- agement Corporation. After comple- tion of the training program in early 1978, the Corporation will take over total management of the complex under contract to the Jersey City Housing Authority. For a few resi- dents, this will mean full-time em- ployment. For the rest, it will offer on- the-spot management by people who actually live in the community and care — out of enlightened self- interest — about its continued maintenance. Tenant activism fit the A. Harry Moore project has also spawned larger community involvement among the residents. No longer feeling hope- less and powerless, the adults of the neighborhood are sensing their politi- cal strength as a group. The tenant council has taken on a program to encourage participation in civic affairs — a get-out-the-vote drive that led recently to an incredible 87% turnout among the project's eligible voters for a mayoralty election. All these successes suggest strongly that the partnership between the Jersey City Housing Authority and the tenants of the A. Harry Moore public housing complex has achieved what Authority director Rigby calls “a functional sense of community which resounds with the difference between surviving and living.” JERSEY CITY 35 Boston/ Roxbury The collection and exhibition of artifacts for black Americans is not a luxury. The African-American historical organization that defines success by its support within the black community must make a tan- gible contribution to the improvement, health and liberation of that community Its program should anticipate the future and be as grounded in the always-changing present as it is in the past. Byron Rushing, President Museum of Afro-American History We do not know where we are if we cannot remember where we've been ; we can't make informed decisions about where to go if we can't recognize where we are and where we've been. Wall Plaque Museum of Afro-American History s the site of the American Revolution s early battles, Boston has always enjoyed a well-developed sense of history. Thousands of tourists come to the city each year to walk the Freedom Trail, a self-guiding tour of Revolutionary landmarks that includes, among other things, the Old North Church (where a single lantern in the church tower — “one if by land” — sent Paul Revere on his midnight ride); the old State House (site of the Boston Massacre); and Paul Revere s house. Until recently, however, few Bostonians thought to pay similar respects to land- marks commemorating the history of the city's black population. The Museum of Afro-American History has filled that void with its educational programs, ex- hibits, historic preservation activities and neighborhood awareness efforts in Boston’s most significant areas for black history — Roxbury and Beacon Hill. In doing so, the Museum has been careful to relate its historical interests to the community needs of Boston’s black population today, particularly in Roxbury. Three grants from the National Endowment for the Arts have aided the Museum’s efforts. The first, for $50,000, supported Roxbury neighborhood proj- ects beginning in 1974. The second — a $20,000 stipend granted in 1976 — has gone toward the creation of a Roxbury heritage trail, and the most recent — $14,000 out of the 1978 Livable Cities program — is providing design funds for exterior spaces around Beacon Hill historical sites. The first blacks landed in Boston in 1638, when the ship Desire arrived bear- ing “some cotton and tobacco and negroes.” slavery as a legal institution was unique in Massachusetts in that the early blacks who were indentured there enjoyed the right to testify and sue in court. During the Revolution, both sides offered slaves their freedom in return for military service. After 1783, when the Revolution ended and the Commonwealth officially outlawed slavery, Boston became a haven for runaway southern slaves. Free Boston blacks settled at first in the city’s North End, but after the War of Independence they established a large community on the north slope of Beacon Hill while whites settled on the south slope. On Beacon Hill, blacks established a church, a school and a number of community organizations. Their Baptist house of worship served also as a meeting house and school for the African Society, around which black community life centered. The African Meeting House was constructed in 1806 by volunteer laborers, all free black men. Still standing, its pleasing proportions and simple design are of the Federal style, but alterations made in the 1850’s included the addition of two-story arched 37 windows, a vaulted ceiling above the altar, and curved stairways. The history of the African Meeting House reflects the many changes ex- perienced by blacks throughout Bos- ton’s past. Some of this history was enacted within its walls; William Lloyd Garrison organized the New England Abolitionist Society there in 1834, after being refused permission to speak in Faneuil Hall. He and other orators for the cause spoke there so frequently that it soon became known as the Abolitionist Church. Many of its members provided refuge for run- away slaves — often at some peril, since the Fugitive Slave Act (passed in 1850) gave the owners the right to pursue their slaves into the north and force their return into bondage. The 54th Massachusetts Regiment, com- prised entirely of blacks, was re- cruited in the Meeting House for Civil War duty. Black children learned to read and write in the African Meeting House in its earliest days, but the rapid growth of Beacon Hill’s black population — about 1,200 people when the Meeting House was built — soon required con- struction of a school building next door. Black children were not permit- ted to attend Boston's public schools, but the city did subsidize the school which was constructed in 1834 for black children. Primary funding for the school came from the bequest of Abiel Smith, a white businessman who believed in educating black chil- dren, and the school bore his name. The black community petitioned the city unsuccessfully for permission to expand the school in 1839. From that time until 1855, black leaders and white abolitionists tried repeatedly to integrate Boston’s public schools. When they finally succeeded, a de- cade before the end of the Civil War, the Smith School closed. The school building’s exterior was restored by the city in 1977. After the Civil War, the first large migration of blacks from the south brought so many new people to Bos- ton that the Afro-American community began to spread significantly beyond Beacon Hill. As trains and streetcars spread outward from the center of the city, middle-class whites and then blacks moved into the first ring of suburbs, including Roxbury. Mean- while, Beacon Hill changed gradually from a black to a white neighborhood, and the African Meeting House was sold by its few remaining members to the Congregation Libavitz, an Or- thodox Jewish group. It served as a synagogue until the early 1970’s. When that congregation also dwin- dled, the old Meeting House was pur- chased by the Museum of Afro- American History for restoration. As the oldest remaining black church building in the United States, the African Meeting House has been designated a National Historic Land- mark. It has become a gathering place for tour groups who walk Bos- 38 NEIGHBORHOODS ton’s second historic trail — the Black Heritage Trail on Beacon Hill and downtown Boston, developed recently by the Museum of Afro-American His- tory. That trail links the Meeting House and the Abiel Smith School with 14 other important landmarks of local and national black history. In some cases, the sites belong to both the Freedom Trail and the Black Heritage Trail, since blacks partici- pated in key events of the American Revolution. The best-known black patriot was Crispus Attucks, the first of five persons to die in the Boston Massacre outside the Old State House after he shouted, “Kill the dogs! Knock them over!” at a group of British soldiers. The Boston Massacre Monument which commemorates the event was erected in 1888 by the city’s black citizens. As the Black Heritage Trail's start- ing point, the African Meeting House harbors the permanent exhibit of 18th and 19th century historical artifacts of the Museum of Afro-American His- tory. The main sanctuary of the Meet- ing House, with the original pews still in place despite a fire that damaged the building in 1973, also provides a meeting place for black community groups of the present day. "We can architecturally restore the Meeting House to its 19th century appear- ance,” said museum president Byron Rushing after its purchase, “but we are positive that the spirits of our an- cestors will not be satisfied until we restore their and our building into a 20th century Meeting House for black people.” With the Meeting House, the Museum of Afro-American History gained the first of its two permanent headquarters. Organized in 1964 by a group of interested Bostonians includ- ing Howard Thurman, the eminent black dean of the Boston University’s Marsh Chapel, the Museum operated for several years with part-time volun- teers in borrowed and rented space. From the early days its philosophy has embraced the idea of using his- tory to help people understand the present the determine the future. A recent statement of the Museum’s purposes and programs said, “The African-American historical organiza- tion that defines success by its sup- port within the black community must make a tangible contribution to the improvement, health and liberation of that community. Its program should anticipate the future and be as grounded in the always changing present as it is in the past.” For that reason, the directors knew from the Museum’s founding days that they could not focus exclusively on Beacon Hill, where the proud past has given way to an affluent present that includes very few blacks. Today, Boston’s black population is centered in Roxbury and the South End — two neighborhoods that changed in the 19th century from sparsely-settled farmland to pleasant country estates BOSTON/ROXBURY 39 and then, at the turn of the century, to densely-populated neighborhoods whose architecture includes a mixture of triple-decker frame houses, divided-up estate mansions, small single-family houses, row houses and brick apartment buildings erected in place of original estate houses as they were torn down. Virtually no new construction occurred between 1910 and 1960, and more recent building in Roxbury and the South End has been limited largely to urban renewal public housing projects. These neighborhoods were built neither by nor for black people. They were the first suburbs of Boston, settled by whites who moved on to more distant suburbs early in the century, leaving Roxbury and the South End to absorb the huge migra- tion of blacks from the South. Today, these neighborhoods reflect the pov- erty that so many blacks have had to endure in the nation’s cities. The Museum of Afro-American His- tory chose Roxbury for its second headquarters in order to implement its philosophy of relating past, present and future to each other. In 1974, the Museum sought and received help for its Roxbury activities in the form of a $50,000 grant from the City Options program of the National Endowment for the Arts. With these funds, the Museum initiated a survey of four Roxbury neighborhoods seeking en- hanced neighborhood pride by look- ing for symbols that people identified with their communities. In one neigh- borhood, the symbol people loved was a Victorian Gothic water tower, or standpipe, that stands high on a hill overlooking all of Boston. In another area, John Eliot Square and its sur- rounding structures, including an 1804 church and its 1750 rectory, were identified by residents as the area’s most significant symbols. A third neighborhood’s residents cited a vast park and zoo designed by Frederick Law Olmsted. The fourth, the newest and most transient of the four areas, failed to produce a consensus about a symbol. The Museum mounted ex- hibits about the neighborhoods, their symbols, history and architecture. In two neighborhoods, the Museum also took action to preserve the symbols and adapt them for use. The standpipe is located on Fort Hill, named for the High Fort that stood there to defend Boston from British forces during the American Revolution. This high point had very practical benefits for the Boston Water Authority in 1869. By construct- ing the standpipe there, the Authority could pump water into the tower for storage until it was needed in house- holds at high elevations around Fort Hill. Together, the standpipe and the pumping station cost the city $100,000, yet they were only used for a few years before being abandoned. In 1911, the Roxbury Historical So- ciety called upon Boston Mayor John “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald, grandfather of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, NEIGHBORHOODS for financial help in restoring the standpipe and converting it to an ob- servatory. At its completion in 1917, visitors could gaze over the city and contemplate Revolutionary history with the aid of bronze plaques com- memorating the various battlegrounds visible from the handsome wrought- iron balcony added to the tower dur- ing restoration. At the time, Mayor Fitzgerald wrote: “The location is one which has become dear to the public by reason of the historical traditions surrounding it, and it will be an im- provement to be enjoyed by the resi- dents of the entire city.” Over the years after that, however, the stand- pipe again fell into disrepair, until in 1975 is was in danger of demolition. Having documented the stand- pipe’s importance as a symbol of Roxbury residents, the Museum of Afro-American History led a cam- paign to save it. With Endowment funding, the Museum printed leaflets calling on citizens to “Save the Stand Pipe.” One leaflet included a 1917 ar- ticle detailing the structure s history and the story of its restoration as an observatory. Another brochure con- sisted of a cut-out model of the standpipe and a detachable postcard addressed to Mayor Kevin White on which people could convey to City Hall the simple message, “Dear Mayor, SAVE THE STANDPIPE!” After receiving hundreds of such postcards, Mayor White agreed in 1977 to use city and federal funds to restore the standpipe again. On com- pletion, it will serve as the focal point of Roxbury walking tours. The ground-floor room will exhibit the Museum of Afro-American History’s changing displays relating to Roxbury and black history. The Museum’s other major restora- tion project in Roxbury has provided its own permanent center in that community. The Dillaway-Thomas House, rectory of the First Church on John Eliot Square, served as head- quarters for patriot troops under command of General John Thomas during the Revolution; later, it was a residence until 1930, when the Rox- bury Historical Society prevailed on Mayor Curley to restore it and lease it to the Society. Both the Society and the house were abandoned in the 1960's. Its 1977-78 rehabilitation has been a cooperative effort involving the Museum, Boston’s Redevelop- ment Authority and Public Facilities Department, and a non-profit activist organization called the Roxbury Ac- tion Program. In April 1978, just be- fore a scheduled transfer of title from the city to the Museum, a fire of sus- picious origin seriously damaged the structure. Both the city and the Museum vowed afterwards to go on with the restoration despite this seri- ous setback. BOSTON/ROXBURY 41 A,. ' The Museum’s permanent Roxbury headquarters in the Dillaway-Thomas house will facilitate continuation of an archeology program it has recently undertaken both there and at the Beacon Hill African Meeting House site. Under this program, children in the Boston public schools dig for clues to the lifestyles and occupations of earlier generations. Trash pits at the Meeting House site have pro- duced a rich harvest of objects which have made history come alive for the children. Digging in Roxbury has been less productive so far, but seems to be equally intriguing for its participants. The Museum of Afro-American His- tory received a second grant from the National Endowment for the Arts in 1976. With $20,000 of Endowment funds, the Museum has begun a comprehensive effort to tie together all of Roxbury’s important historical sites in a network which will help resi- dents to “look continually at their neighborhood in new and fresh ways,” according to Museum presi- dent Byron Rushing. The result will be another self-guiding trail; this one will combine historical sites important to Roxbury with sites illustrating black life there in the present, and — in an innovative approach — sites whose primary importance still lies ahead. By pointing out areas where critical choices must be made, the Museum hopes to involve residents in planning for Roxbury’s future. - One such site is Dudley Station, a stop on Boston’s rapid transit system. Built in 1901, the large station building dominates its neighborhood along with the elevated track it serves. It re- cently functioned also as temporary headquarters for the Museum of Afro-American History. The Museum publicized the station’s importance through a public-awareness program called “What Time Is This Station?” The Museum seeks designation of the station and its surroundings as a historic district on the National Regis- ter of Historic Places. In the 1980's Dudley Station will cease to serve rapid rail passengers. The transit system is scheduled for rerouting to cleared but unused high- way right-of-way — a legacy from the successful fight to stop Interstate 95 from cutting through Boston. Rushing sees the move as an opportunity for creative planning in the Dudley Sta- tion area; he expects the Museum to be involved in the planning process, and to work for adaptive-reuse of the station building itself. Some Bosto- 42 NEIGHBORHOODS nians even envision retention of the elevated track structure for use as a bikeway — an idea that intrigues Rush- ing, although the Museum has taken no position on it. The casual observer would not yet notice significant evidence of rebirth in Roxbury. Demolition, vandalism and gradual aging of the community’s 19th-century structures continue, al- though Rushing believes that recent rehabilitation efforts and new con- struction projects are beginning to balance these losses. He notices a slight increase in lenders’ willingness to invest in Roxbury, particularly when government subsidies or guarantees are available. He sees his institution’s role as helping to create an atmos- phere of caring about Roxbury, a necessary prerequisite to the reversal of Roxbury’s downward economic and aesthetic slide. The Museum of African Art’s most recent grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, a $14,000 stipend from the Livable Cities grant- ing category for 1978, will allow ex- terior design work for the spaces around the African Meeting House on Beacon Hill. Thus the Museum will continue to balance its activities in these two sharply contrasting but, for black Bostonians, equally important parts of the city. It seems a wise pol- icy, since only by tying together the past and the present, the most prized area of the city with the too-often- forgotten black neighborhoods to the south, will Boston become a livable city for all its residents. BOSTON/ROXBURY 43 Galveston In the history of American cities, culture has followed economic affluence as it did in Galveston at the turn of the century. In recent years, we have seen a reversal of that trend as the arts, with precious little money, have stimulated new hope and economic activity Emily Whiteside, Executive Director Galveston County Cultural Arts Council What is wanted is neither a staged tourist set nor a museum, but an area which Galvestonians and visitors alike frequent because of its vitality, variety of uses and activities, changing composition, close ties to the rest of Galveston . . . and always, the particular beauty and worth of its grand 19th century buildings. Peter Brink, Executive Director Galveston Historical Foundation alvestonians are painfully aware that years of economic stagnation and decline adversely affect every aspect of a city’s life — its social institutions, its cultural activities, and its physical environment. After passing through many such years, Galveston is recovering, finding a new life and rekindling elements of the old. Ironically, the city’s current renaissance is symbolized in the restoration of build- ings and neighborhoods whose very survival into the 1970’s probably would not have been possible had the city continued to thrive without interruption in earlier times. For the National Endowment for the Arts, it is especially gratifying to note the leading role that the arts have played in Galveston’s restoration effort — and indeed, in its entire reawakening. The Endowment has aided the city’s efforts with small grants — the first amounted to only $8,000 — that have stimulated re- habilitation efforts involving private investments many times larger. The earliest settlement at Galveston was a rough collection of tents pitched between 1836 and 1838 and known as “Sacarappa.” That name lives on today on the masthead of the Galveston Historical Foundation’s bi-monthly newspa- per. Between the early days and now, the island city was known by several nicknames, including the “Queen City of the Southwest" and the “New York of the Gulf.” These appellations were earned by Galveston’s shippers, financiers, insurers and wholesale merchants — especially cotton brokers — who made her one of the leading ports in the nation. Goods of every type passed across Gal- veston’s wharves and along the railroad tracks that linked the city with Chicago and other points north. If Galveston was the hub of Texas and the Gulf, The Strand was the hub of Galveston. A street named after The Strand of London, Galveston’s Strand is one block away from the docks on sheltered Galveston Bay. The Strand (or, less elegantly, “Avenue B” on the earliest city plat) therefore quickly became the city’s business district. By the 1880’s, five blocks were occupied by what has been called “one of the finest concentrations of 19th-century commercial archi- tecture in the country.” Most Strand buildings were constructed of brick with cast-iron facades, elabo- rate decoration and broad wooden canopies above the ground floor to protect pedestrians and outdoor merchants from the elements. Many remain standing today, though by the time local citizens saw their potential for restoration in the early 1970’s, the canopies and much decorative detail were missing, and gen- 47 eral deterioration was evident. Be- cause of the high volume of financial transactions that took place in these buildings — $38 million worth in 1881 alone — The Strand became known as the “Wall Street of the West.” Cross streets intersecting The Strand pro- vided quarters for numerous restau- rants, theatres and two opera houses. The Strand’s fortunes were re- versed by a combination of man- made technological changes and an Act of God. In the 1890’s Houston de- veloped rail links with important northern cities, competing success- fully with Galveston for trade and traf- fic. Galveston itself nearly disap- peared in a 1900 hurricane that is still considered to be the nation’s worst natural disaster. Over 6,000 people lost their lives, but most Strand build- ings survived because of their sturdy construction and their fortuitous loca- tion on the leeward side of the island. Soon afterwards, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers began construct- ing a nine-mile-long seawall and rais- ing the island's ground level by seven feet in a dozen years of pumping in fill from the Bay. Owners of surviving buildings either raised them on stilts and filled in beneath, or they simply filled around them, burying their bot- tom stories. New buildings were built on the higher grade. ' Galveston failed, however, to re- gain the prosperity it had known be- fore 1900. In the 1920’s, Houston again took the growth that Galveston might have expected, as a new ship channel opened limitless possibilities for the port of Houston. Galveston settled into decades of stagnation, while The Strand’s commercial build- ings and the fine Victorian homes nearby grew seedy around the edges. Some were demolished. In 1972, an impetus for the revitali- zation of Galveston came from an unexpected source — the Galveston County Cultural Arts Council. Founded in 1970 to foster the visual and performing arts in Galveston, the Council eventually expanded its focus, working to create an urban set- ting in which the arts could thrive. In 1971, recalled the Council’s executive director Emily Whiteside in Congres- sional testimony, “it soon became clear that if the arts organizations were going to survive in Galveston, then a healthier cultural and eco- nomic climate would have to be re- created in which they could grow and be sustained as they had in the past.” “It was also apparent,” she con- tinued, “that the Arts Council should be reorganized to include not only the arts, but also representatives of busi- ness, government, education, reli- gion, minority, preservation and civic groups — all sharing the same interest — a more livable city.” The Arts Council began this ambi- tious task by locating its own head- quarters on The Strand. Galveston's Junior League, already alert to the value of The Strand’s commercial architecture, had restored two Strand 48 DOWNTOWNS structures between 1969 and 1971. When in 1972 the Arts Council sought inexpensive space for studios, work- shops and classrooms, one of these buildings had exactly what the Coun- cil needed — large, high-ceilinged, well-lighted rooms available at a rea- sonable rent. It opened as the Arts Center on The Strand in June 1972, aided then and since by grants from the Expansion Arts program of the National Endowment for the Arts. In a typical two-month period at the Arts Center, Galveston residents can choose among courses in ceramics, metal work and jewelry-making, photography and film making, paint- ing, sculpture, printmaking, weaving, dance, creative writing, and — for children — an interdisciplinary program called “Introduction to the Arts.” The immediate success of the Arts center encouraged the Council to move on in 1973 toward its broader goal of bringing an economic and cul- tural renaissance to The Strand as a whole. With an $8,000 matching grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Council conducted a study to learn how to go about restoring the entire five-block area and encourag- ing the adaptation of The Strand’s commercial buildings for a variety of uses including shops, restaurants, apartments, art galleries and offices. It would also be important, Council members thought, to retain the active wholesale businesses already operat- ing on The Strand. The study team consisted of nationally-known experts in historic preservation, design, urban affairs, law and economics. The group con- ducted on-site inspections and made recommendations for The Strand and its important individual buildings. They mapped out a preliminary im- plementation strategy. What happened next is especially remarkable for its magnitude in dol- lars and accomplishments, growing as it did out of the very small Endowment investment of $8,000. The Arts Council worked with the Galveston Historical Foundation to create a revolving fund for the pur- chase and resale of Strand buildings. As a tax-exempt, nonprofit preserva- tion organization, the Historical Foun- dation was in a position to attract funding from other foundations (and, later, bits and pieces of government money) and to handle the economic, legal and planning aspects of The Strand’s restoration. The Kempner Fund of Galveston soon donated $15,000 of seed money so the Historical Foundation could hire Peter Brink, an attorney with prior preservation experience, as executive director and overseer of the Strand Project. The Moody Foundation, an- other philanthropic group created by an old Galveston business family, committed $200,000 which became the core of the Historical Foundation’s Strand Revolving Fund. The Historical Foundation quickly and quietly pur- chased options on five Strand build- ings, acting anonymously through a trustee to avoid the instant price infla- tion that preservationists have invari- ably found when their interest in an area becomes known. From this beginning, the Historical Foundation built a $1 million line of credit for long-term financing with a consortium of Galveston lending insti- GALVESTON 49 tutions. One by one, GHF bought Strand buildings, attached restrictive covenants to their deeds, and resold them to developers who agreed to the deed restrictions. Buyers promised not to demolish the buildings or alter their exteriors without the Founda- tion's approval. They agreed to main- tain structural soundness. Most im- portant to the Historical Foundation’s revitalization efforts, they committed themselves to restore the buildings’ facades and develop interiors for uses that would contribute to the new Strand ambience and activity. In taking this case-by-case ap- proach, the Galveston Historical Foundation departed from preserva- tion techniques previously used in Galveston’s historic residential areas. In the historic East End, for example, the entire area benefitted from desig- nation by the city as a historic district based on a survey and development plan prepared by the Foundation. That meant that all new construction, demolition and exterior restoration of existing structures in the East End had to be approved by the Historic District Board, an unpaid citizen committee which sought to keep these changes in harmony with the many excellent examples of Victorian residential architecture there. Preservationists also sought to have The Strand designated as a his- toric district in 1971. The Strand failed to win city council approval because of opposition from a number of wholesale businesses and other property owners in the commercial area. Owners feared that the restrictions and the lack of specific guidelines for the Historic District Board to use in determining compati- bility between proposed develop- ments and existing buildings might scare investors and lenders away and impinge on their freedom to do busi- ness. Consequently, the Historical Foundation has not sought historic district designation for The Strand since the revolving fund was estab- lished. The Strand was listed, how- ever, on the National Register of His- toric Places in 1971 and became a National Historic Landmark District in 1976. By 1977, $4 million in private in- vestment had been committed to the purchase, restoration and develop- ment of Strand buildings. Peter Brink, executive director of the Galveston Historical Foundation, carefully stretched revolving fund monies to handle more and more buildings; 18 had been rehabilitated by 1977. Whenever possible, the Foundation acted as a broker rather than a pur- chaser. Sometimes this simply meant bringing sellers and buyers together and negotiating for commitments to restrictive covenants. At other times the Foundation purchased options on buildings, found new permanent own- ers, and assigned the options to these buyers with acceptance of the covenants as a condition of the as- signment. (This method was used with the first five buildings restored on The Strand.) In still other cases, build- ings did not change hands at all, but Brink successfully convinced owners to attach new deed restrictions to their properties in exchange for a few thousand dollars of the Historical 50 DOWNTOWNS Foundation's funds, city grant funds (to be used for reconstruction of wooden canopies), or access to long- term financing from the lending con- sortium for agreed-upon exterior re- novation measures. At first, buildings were resold at slight losses. This deliberate decision enabled the Historical Foundation to reduce the risk faced by The Strand’s first prospective new businessmen and select those committing them- selves to occupy or lease their build- ings immediately. This way, The Strand project began to multiply in ef- fect at the earliest possible time and the preservationist group avoided in- advertent sales to speculators. The potential of Strand buildings has stimulated dramatic architectural adaptations of large warehouse spaces in many Strand buildings for apartments, shops, restaurants and offices. Design firms involved in The Strand include Ford, Powell & Carson of San Antonio, Taft Architects of Houston, Oliver and Bierman of Gal- veston and Hardy, Holzman and Pfeif- fer of New York. Brink and his colleagues also recognized the need to integrate the individual buildings into a well- designed, cohesive plan for The Strand as a whole, and to create “linkages” in turn between The Strand and its surroundings, including Gal- veston’s wharf area. In 1974, using another matching grant from the Na- tional Endowment for the Arts — this one for $42,000 — The Galveston His- torical Foundation hired the Philadel- phia planning and architectural firm of Venturi and Rauch to assist a Strand Planning Committee in creating a de- tailed Action Plan for the Strand. The resulting Plan demonstrates an un- usually broad sensitivity not only to The Strand’s aesthetic value and po- tential, but also to important eco- nomic, practical and social concerns. Among the goals spelled out by Ven- turi and Rauch, for example, was that of minimizing adverse impacts of Strand restoration on existing busi- nesses both there and nearby. The planners also counseled flexi- bility in the Foundation’s attitude to- ward construction of “infill develop- ment” where demolition had taken its toll in the 1950’s and 1960’s. While new construction should maintain Strand height and frontage lines and first-floor activities should enhance the spirit of The Strand, the Plan said, the existing constraints on new con- struction “should not be intensified by too strict aesthetic controls on new development, or this will sap its vital- ity.” Further, “harmony with the exist- ing structures can be achieved through maintaining either a distinct contrast or a close similarity in scale, texture, proportions or materials. It is not so much whether a building is dif- ferent from or analogous to other Strand structures as whether its de- sign and details make its neighbors look mean and dingy or grand and mellow.” Even in the restoration of the older buildings, the Action Plan called for a vital eclecticism, since “a Williamsburg-like historical accuracy throughout is inappropriate to an ac- tive, multi-purpose street, and indeed would be unattainable in terms of cost and restrictions upon private devel- opment.” To achieve the desired ef- fect, the Plan continued, “Strand de- velopers should strive to restore street facades authentically, but otherwise they should use historical imagery artistically and symbolically. Restoration of interiors should be art- ful but impressionistic, as in the GALVESTON 51 Roman palazzo with a stunning modern bar under the awning on the ground floor. Juxtaposing the new and vital with the old and symbolic will help The Strand to become not a museum but a real place that en- hances the life of Galveston’s citizens and dramatizes the experience of its visitors.” Venturi and Rauch recommended the use of harmonious but colorful signs in front of Strand buildings; Vic- torian gaslights were already being installed. They called for use of blank storefront windows in wholesale and warehouse buildings as display areas to depict the Strand’s past and its cur- rent restoration; the exhibits would also eliminate visual gaps between retail businesses with lively street facades. In vacant lots they called for parks and trees — the latter to be planted in flat, close lines ‘‘to form a visual wall at the building line.” Sidewalks, they said, should be re- paved in brick or unglazed tile similar to the original 19th-century materials. Benches should be placed at conven- ient points along the sidewalk for pedestrians’ convenience, and shop- keepers should use the sidewalks as extensions for their shops, displaying goods in outside barrels and crates. While all this restoration activity was progressing, the Galveston County Cultural Arts Council con- tinued to take critical steps toward making The Strand a center of artistic activity as well as a commercial suc- cess. In addition to the programs of the Arts Center on the Strand, the Council began to sponsor an annual Festival on the Strand, partially funded by matching grants from the National Endowment for the Arts’ “Expansion Arts” program. The Festi- val brings musicians, artists, dancers and theatre companies to perform or display their works both indoors and out in The Strand area, attracting several thousand tourists and Galves- ton residents. Another major annual event, “Dickens’ Evening on the Strand,” is sponsored by the Galveston Historical Foundation each December. On that occasion The Strand becomes the 19th-century London of Charles Dickens, with costumed merrymak- ers, performances of A Christmas Carol, strolling carolers, roasted chestnuts and wassail cups. From the beginning of The Strand preservation project, the Arts Council never lost sight of one of its most cherished goals — to purchase and restore the city's magnificent Grand Opera House and thereby provide Galveston with a first-rate performing arts hall and civic center. The Grand, built in 1894, is located only three blocks from The Strand. The historic theatre building includes the old Grand Hotel, which provided lodging and dining for both performers and theatregoers. Although damaged in the 1900 hurricane, the Opera House was used continuously for 80 years — first for live performances, and later as a movie house. Records of its first season document the diverse culture and entertainment it offered to Galvestonians — classical music by the Galveston Quartette Society; dramas ranging from “Lady Windermere’s Fan” to “Ten Nights in a Bar Room;” operas such as “Car- 52 DOWNTOWNS men,” “Tannhauser” and “Pagliacci;” sounds of the United States Marine Band; and readings from historical and literary works. Later seasons in- cluded such attractions as John Philip Sousa’s band and the fiery oratory of William Jennings Bryan. A review in the Galveston Daily News of the very first performance described the inter- ior of the Opera House as “rich and gorgeous in every detail ... the gran- dest temple of Thespis to be found in the broad confines of Texas or the Southwest.” Much of this grandeur was unfortu- nately lost during the several decades when the Grand served as a movie house. But the building’s enduring structural soundness encouraged the Arts Council to buy it for restoration in 1974 with grants from the Houston Endowment and the Kempner Fund. This initial funding also went toward a phased master plan for the Opera House which was prepared by Hardy Holzman Pfeiffer Associates of New York. The first step they recom- mended was the modernization of the stage and backstage, so that live per- formances could be resumed as quickly as possible. Ultimately, the en- tire auditorium, lobby, exterior facade and surroundings will be returned to elegance. The master plan also recom- mended conversion of the old Grand Hotel to a mixture of commercial, art- istic and residential uses which could complement the performing arts ac- tivities and bring in revenues to help support the Opera House. A $17,500 grant from the National Endowment for the Arts to the Arts Council is now providing a more detailed feasibility study of the hotel renovation. The Arts Council is progressing well on a major capital fund-raising drive to finance the complete Grand Opera House restoration; already, over $1 million has come from founda- tions, individual gifts and corporate grants. Even though the Grand does not yet offer ideal performing condi- tions, it is used on several occasions each year, including the Festival on the Strand, for musical, dramatic and dance productions. It was dedicated by the Arts Council to the people of Galveston County at a three-day gala celebration in August 1974. The Historical Foundation also con- tinues to expand its dreams and ac- complishments. With continuing fi- nancial support from the Moody Foundation, the Texas Historical Commission, the U.S. Department of the Interior, the city’s Community De- velopment Block Grants and other sources, preservation work spreads to Pier 19 on Galveston Bay, to build- ings on other nearby streets and to the Santa Fe Railroad Terminal at the head of The Strand. The Grand and The Strand repre- sent the best of Galveston — the living spirit that has endured depression, neglect, and destruction and emerged as the soul of a truly livable city of the late 20th century. GALVESTON 53 roy There is no phase of our history that is more uniquely American than the phenomenon that caused the conversion of an agrarian so- ciety into the industrial powerhouse of the world; a period when wave after wave of immigration created a multi-ethnic society unique in the history of the world. . . . As the Hudson and Mohawk Rivers and the Erie Canal historically nurtured and linked a network of urban developments across the State of New York and opened the door to the westward expansion of the United States, so too can they be seen as linking a modern net- work of urban cultures and opening the door to economic and social revitalization based on the redevelopment of historic urban environ- mental resources. Hudson Mohawk Industrial Gateway, "Proposal for a Hudson-Mohawk Urban Cultural Park" s the historic preservation movement has embraced commercial history in Gal- veston and low-income neighborhoods in Savannah, it has taken yet another direction in New York State. In the area surrounding the confluence of the Hud- son and Mohawk rivers, sensitive private citizens and public officials recognize the historic importance and present potential of their region’s legacy of 19th- century industrial buildings and sites. By using these industrial relics to promote tourism and spread knowledge of past Hudson-Mohawk manufacturing enter- prises, residents of six communities — including Troy — hope to help create a climate in which new investment will end their recent years as “economic back- waters” (as FORTUNE magazine has described them). They hope, too, that “adaptive reuse” of old factory buildings will be a central part of the Troy area’s revitalization. Upstate Industrial Archaeology. In 1972, the regents of the University of the State of New York chartered a new organization dedicated to using historical industrial resources for the revitalization of the Troy area. Called the Hudson Mohawk Industrial Gateway, the group functions as a non-profit educational corporation. In 1973, the Gateway received a $40,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Arts — supplemented with funds from the New York State Council on the Arts, the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and private sources — for an extensive study of the region’s industrial heritage and its possi- ble revitalization through recognition and adaptation of industrial remnants. The study was coordinated by the Albany architectural firm of Mendel Mesick Co- hen, using a team consisting of an architectural historian, two architects, and an economist, who together represented a new discipline called “industrial archaeology.” Unlike scholars who dig in the dirt for relics of ancient civilizations, industrial archaeologists work primarily with above-ground ruins of the period when the industrial revolution was transforming American civilization. Their basic goal, however, conforms with that motivating other archaeologists — to understand, through physical remains, the diverse forces which shaped the total society of the period under study. FORTUNE magazine recognized the importance of in- dustrial archaeology in its article about Troy, noting that “these I industrial] rem- 55 nants are now being recognized as monuments of American technology — as worthy of attention as the stately old homes and gracious ways of life that the decayed factories made possible.” Like so many American cities, Troy grew because its location offered water for both power and transporta- tion. The Mohawk and Hudson rivers meet at Troy, and early 19th-century engineers expanded the usefulness of these natural waterways by con- necting them by canal with Lake Champlain to the north and Lake Erie to the west. Waterwheels for industrial power sprouted along these rivers; a wheel built at Troy’s Burden Iron Works was the largest and most pow- erful in the world. The region’s leading industries were iron and steel; the Bessemer process was first introduced to Amer- ican steelmaking in Troy, and only Pittsburgh had a larger steel output. Other products included stoves, valves, cotton textiles, ships, fire hyd- rants, clothing (especially detachable cuffs and collars), railroad cars, paints, paper, bricks, bells and arma- ments. Henry Burden, an enterprising Scottish immigrant who took over the Troy Iron and Nail Company and or- ganized a new iron company which bore his name, also played a crucial but little-known role in the Civil War by stamping out thousands of horse- shoes for the Union Army with a spe- cial machine he had invented. An- other area firm, the Corning, Winslow and Company, rolled the iron plates for the U.S.S. Monitor. These industries influenced every facet of life in the region. Companies often provided their worker’s housing, schools, recreation halls, and even churches. They also offered employ- ment to graduates of Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute at Troy, which emerged in 1824 as the nation’s first engineering school. As their labor needs increased, the region’s fac- tories absorbed thousands of Euro- pean immigrants. The growing popu- lation fed varied support services in turn; they included firefighting, waterworks and the manufacture and distribution of natural gas for lighting. Today, only a few of the Hudson- Mohawk factories are operating in their original manner, yet many re- main standing as tributes to the past. The decline of industry in the region resulted from the Depression, a lack of innovation and leadership, out- dated plants and capital equipment, unionization and rising labor costs (which drove the textile companies southward), a shift away from water- based power and transportation, and other changes in markets and sources of raw materials. The region includes a number of different political jurisdictions — the cities of Troy, Cohoes and Watervliet, and the towns and villages of Green Island and Waterford, in the counties of Albany, Rensselaer and Saratoga — and until the Hudson Mohawk Industrial Gateway was born, no mechanism existed for these com- munities to join together to stimulate economic development through adaptation and reuse of 19th-century industrial facilities. 56 DOWNTOWNS Even before beginning the Endowment-funded study, the Gate- way published a guide book, Indus- trial Archeology in Troy, Waterford, Cohoes, Green Island and Watervliet, offering photographs and brief histori- cal and architectural descriptions of 46 industrial sites in Troy, nine in Waterford, 16 in Cohoes, six in Green Island and four in Watervliet. The study team returned to each site to investigate its present condition, use, ownership and value, and to expand The Gateway’s documentation of its historic and architectural importance. Additionally, the group looked at each building’s potential for reuse and at threats of demolition or irreparable decay. More detailed research on cer- tain buildings, such as the Burden Iron Works Office Building and the Troy Gaslight Company’s Gasholder House, led to publication of a series of monographs. Study Recommendations. The study produced two basic recommen- dations: that the region be developed as a tourism and educational re- source, so that the public might ap- preciate the industrial foundation on which the area grew, and that as many as possible of the remaining buildings be rehabilitated for modern uses. By 1977, much progress had been made in implementing the former, while the challenge of the lat- ter remained to be fulfilled. The Gateway began promoting public visits to historic industrial sites by planning a tourist route to encom- pass the important landmarks in the five communities, and publishing maps and guides for the tour network. Later, the Gateway began sponsoring walking, bus and bicycle tours and dinner boat cruises in the area. By 1977, more than 60 organized tours were being conducted annually. The organization also sought a place where tourists could attend ex- hibits, slide shows and lectures inter- preting the Hudson-Mohawk industrial heritage. In 1974 the Republic Steel Corporation, heir to the Burden Iron Works, donated the Burden office building and two acres of surrounding property to the Gateway. The organi- zation immediately decided to imple- ment the study group’s idea and re- novate the 1881 Queen Anne style office building to serve as the Gate- way’s orientation center and head- quarters. As such, it would become the first industrial building to be restored by the group for contempo- rary use. The Mendel Mesick Cohen firm’s study team had found a wealth of in- formation to help with the Burden building’s restoration. Detailed ac- counting ledgers from the iron com- pany’s files documented each step in the building’s construction, and newspapers of the 1880's described the finished structure. Outside, ac- cording to the Troy Daily Times of De- cember 16, 1882, the brick facade was decorated with “pressed brick trimmings distributed in tasty and unique designs” and with arched win- dows of “cathedral glass,” and was topped by a gabled red tile roof and cupola. The interior was seen by the reporter as equally unique with its cherry paneling “polished to a re- markable degree of perfection,” its grand reception room — “perhaps the most gorgeous interior of its kind in this part of the state” — its high ceil- TROY 57 ings, skylights, glowing coal fire- places, and its open plan with in- dividual work spaces delineated by partitions and cherry railings rather than full walls. Even the decoration of company officers’ rooms clearly sur- prised the visitor, as “Turkish rugs, brass gas fixtures, tastily curtained windows and other features produce an air of elegance that is seldom en- joyed outside of a mansion.” All these facts went into a monograph pub- lished by the Gateway. The Burden office building was stripped of all its interior splendor sometime during Republic Steel’s ten- ure of ownership, and today's prices for cherry wood and other finishing items prohibit a full restoration of these details. But the rehabilitated structure will retain the basic floor plan of the building and will provide an interesting place for visitors to begin their explorations of Hudson- Mohawk industrial relics. The Gate- way group will also shore up the ruins of portions of the iron works proper (most of which was dismantled for scrap during World War II), and hopes eventually to build a replica of the original waterwheel for tourists to view. Peebles Island. Not far from the Burden site lies Peebles Island, where the Hudson and Mohawk rivers actually meet. There, the Cluett Pea- body Company processed cotton cloth beginning in 1910 and invented the famous sanforizing process in WTEEFQgD VILLAGE. >D t DIVISION SIS HARMONY MILLS SCHOOL & CAT ABACI STS column- SJ . p « OAKWOOD CEMETERY OAXWOOD AVt ENTRANCE LAN5INGBURGH * BURIAL GROUNDS 107 TH ST L 3RD AVE. I GURLEY ICO. / TROY FULTON t 5TM AVE DOWNTOWN BUS TOUR LOCATION E-PI ^ - watervliet I WATERVL1ET ARSENAL , BROADWAY ENTRANCE P0E5TENK1LL GORGE WULTEX COMPRESS i 6 TH St WASHINGTON PAR*. 189 2ND ST PEEBLES IS BLEACHERY 2ND ST MATTON SHIPYARDS DELAWARE AVE LANSINGBUgGn BICYCLE TOUR POLK. L S RIVER STS BURDEN BLD