Chicago’s White City

My fascination with World’s Fairs was started when I was a child by Laura Ingalls Wilder and the San Francisco Panama-Pacific Exposition. It has continued as an adult. Chicago’s 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition is the World’s Fair for planners. The “White City” was the first major example of the City Beautiful Movement, an attempt to reduce or eliminate the unhealthy, overcrowded cities of the time.

After years of hearing about the importance of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair in planning and architecture and after reading Eric Larson’s The Devil in the White City, I made it a goal to visit the fair site. On one trip to Chicago when the weather was beautiful, I rented a bike and rode down the waterfront trail toward what was left of the White City. This was before I had a smart phone which meant I turned around and gave up because I feared that I had misjudged the distance by bike trail. Later, I realized I was probably pretty close and if I had only gone around one more curve, I would have seen my destination.

My next trip to Chicago was the same year I visited San Francisco. This time, I took a bus to the fair location. I picked the bus stop that on the map appeared to be the closest stop to the remaining places of interest from the fair. When I stepped off the bus onto a broken sidewalk, I found a desolate expanse of vacant land, scraggly trees, and pock-marked lawns. A weary walk presented itself every way I turned.

The bus didn’t run frequently out there. The roads that crossed the vacant expanse stretched far and wide, empty except for the random sudden appearance of a single speeding vehicle.

As soon as I had stepped off the bus and it drove off, I felt tired and scared. I wondered how to extricate myself from this horrible environment. I had some additional information that expanded the negative emotions stirred by the conditions around me. I had heard or read somewhere that the former Midway, which was where I got off the bus, was used as a sort of DMZ buffer to keep “those people” (in this case, primarily people with little income or people of color) away from the University of Chicago campus. I had clearly landed in the middle of a land of have-nots.

As I had come this far with a purpose and there seemed to be little else to do, I moved forward toward the lake. Migraine-inducing music was blaring from an unseen picnic far away and it followed me wherever I went. After feeling like I had taken my life in my hands by daring to cross the road where at any second a car could come speeding by, I reached a path among experimental plantings. Following random turns, I found the lagoon from the fair. The one white building that remained was on the opposite shore and was surrounded by scaffolding. The walk that once circumscribed the water was shut off by a menacing 6-foot high, chain link fence and a bridge that divided the lagoon seemed no longer safe to cross over, though passing under through the muck and mud was an option.

I eventually found a way forward and reached the Japanese Garden that was developed for the fair and remains a peaceful spot. Prior to that, at the moment of being confronted with a security fence and a broken bridge, the fear and doubt that often accompanies me on my explorations became overwhelming. What if I’m stopped? What if I’m questioned? Do I have a right to explore here and pass this way? Do I have a right to explore places and pass judgement?

San Francisco’s Palace of Fine Arts

As a child, I was a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder (author and heroine of the Little House on the Prairie series). I read all of her books, biographies about her, the books about her daughter, and as they began to be released the books about her mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. I also researched her family tree and found her ancestors back to the time of Henry VIII.

I no longer remember the exact order of events. When I was 12 (almost on my birthday), we moved to California. Either before or after that event, I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book West from Home, which are letters to her husband written on a visit to her daughter, a reporter in San Francisco, in 1915. Because Laura had visited the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition (World’s Fair) in San Francisco, I wanted to go visit what was left of it. I never got the chance while I lived in California. Years later, I finally got there.

Sitting by the lagoon of the Palace of Fine Arts was very peaceful, with the small fountain splashing and birds chirping and cawing. As I sat there enjoying the scene, there was a moment when I could almost picture Laura Ingalls Wilder and other women of the 1910s in their multi-layer dresses, hats or bonnets, and gloves strolling past in a promenade and gazing with wonder at the sights around them.

The Palace of Fine Arts was of a scale to inspire awe and intimidation. It was far more massive and taller than I had imagined. Walking underneath the rotunda, I felt insignificant. Are such large structures built to show us the insignificance of humanity? And yet, they are designed and constructed by humans, which means we create what makes us feel our own insignificance.

Francis Scott Key Bridge Collapse

One of my readers alerted me to last night’s collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore. While I’ve never walked that bridge, since the collapse of Pittsburgh’s Fern Hollow Bridge, which I have walked, the scope of my blog has expanded to highlight the fragile nature of the infrastructure we rely on daily in the United States (and across the pond). According to the reports coming in and the video of the accident, a loaded cargo liner crashed into a pier of the Francis Scott Key Bridge causing the structure to collapse. The Baltimore Sun (March 26, 2024) and Washington Post (March 26, 2024) articles are my primary sources for learning of the accident.

Unlike Pittsburgh’s disaster which was due to a deteriorated portion of the bridge finally giving way after years of deferred maintenance, no blame has yet been placed on any structural unsoundness of the Francis Scott Key Bridge.

The ship that ran into it is another story. Apparently, it recently was flagged as having questionable issues in its navigation system. The current understanding is that the ship lost power and control of steering, issued a mayday alert, and crashed into the bridge pier. In the early analysis of what happened, there are questions as to why various things were not handled differently to have prevented the collision. For example:

  • Why were there not more structures in the water to deflect any ships away from the bridge pier?
  • Why didn’t the tugboats continue with the ship until it cleared not just the harbor, but the bridge as well?
  • Why wasn’t the bridge built with redundancies so that even if one of the piers were knocked out, the bridge could still stand?

Much like deferred maintenance (of bridges and ships), I suspect that money is at the root of the reason why not for items one and three above. It may also be a factor in why the tugboats don’t travel farther down the river with the ships.

The City of Baltimore and State of Maryland have declared a state of emergency. Pledges are being made to rebuild the bridge quickly, including President Biden promising the money to rebuild. It may be interesting to compare the rebuilding of the Francis Scott Key Bridge against Pittsburgh’s Fern Hollow Bridge. While of significantly different scales, both bridges are considered major transportation arteries that the local region cannot afford to be without any longer than absolutely necessary. Will the Francis Scott Key Bridge rebuild include similar time saving measures of purely utilitarian design and of concurrent design/build phases?

Leap Frog 1

LeapFrog! was a fundraiser in Erie, PA, in 2004. I found the frog above on a trip to Erie in 2012. Like some of Pittsburgh’s dinosaurs, I cannot match it to one of the original frogs in the official book.

In 2012, I experienced a narrow band of Erie along State Street from downtown to the waterfront. While walking around in this area looking for churches, I found some frogs. At the time, I did not make a note of the locations where I found them.

In 2023, I found that Ami H. maintains a list and map of the locations of the LeapFrog! frogs. I believe the frog that I found in 2012 is the one tagged on Ami’s map at the Children’s Museum. It has been repainted and become “Experience Frog.” (I still can’t find a match for it in the official LeapFrog! book.)

The Story of the Spires – Scranton

Walking toward the spires in Scranton, PA, I started and ended in Downtown and explored a portion of the Medical and University neighborhoods. Like Pittsburgh and Buffalo, the few religious buildings I found in the heart of downtown remained active. In the adjoining neighborhoods, I found several active religious buildings and others that had been converted to new uses.

Of the 10 total buildings built for religion that I encountered, six remained active while four had been converted to secular uses. One former synagogue is now used for housing. Two former churches are now university buildings. One former church is now a children’s library. This sampling seemed representative enough to contribute to my observations on trends in adaptive reuse and population change. Scranton has experienced a 47% drop in population since its peak population in the 1930s. Based on this information, I expected to find several vacant and reused religious buildings. The surprise finding was that none of them appeared vacant when I got out on the ground.

I also noticed several religious buildings as I drove through the southern neighborhoods on my way home. Because I was driving, I didn’t have the ability to stop and take notes or photos of these buildings, but those that I noticed appeared to be either active religious buildings or active in a secular reuse.

The lack of vacant buildings may perhaps be explained by the recent population trends. While overall, the population is significantly down from the peak, in the last couple decades the decline in population has slowed and the 2020 census showed a miniscule increase in population. It is, so far, the only one of my comparison cities that had a major population drop and a recent increase in population. While Bethlehem and Stroudsburg also saw population increases in the 2020 census, they did not have the same steep drop since the peak population that Scranton and most of the other cities in this survey did.

CityPopulation Loss Since Peak (Peak Year)Population Change in 2020Status of Religious Buildings
Bethlehem1% (1960)0.86%Primarily active sacred uses
Erie26% (1960)-6.82%Primarily active sacred uses
Homestead85% (1920)-9.04%Significant numbers closed or converted to secular uses
Pittsburgh55% (1950)-0.96%Significant numbers closed or converted to secular uses
Scranton47% (1930)0.30%Significant numbers converted to secular uses
Stroudsburg14% (1950)6.47%Primarily active sacred uses
Wilkinsburg49% (1950)-10%Significant numbers closed or converted to secular uses

In addition to the religious and former religious buildings, I found 2 civic buildings and 1 school that sported spires.

The Story of the Spires – Buffalo

When I visit a town, I have a habit of searching out the bridges and the spires to get a feel for the place. Buffalo is one of the most recent places where I applied this approach. Given the size of Buffalo (52 square miles with a population over 275,000), I wasn’t able to explore enough of the city on this trip to add to observations of population trends and adaptive reuse of the religious buildings. So instead, I focused on the spires I could see in downtown. Comparing this to Pittsburgh, where the downtown also has several spires and where I have done a pretty thorough survey of the entire city, I realized that neither Pittsburgh’s nor Buffalo’s downtowns would be indicative of the city-wide trends of adaptive reuse of sacred buildings. The development pressures of a downtown are significantly different from the outlying neighborhoods. In both cities, the religious buildings that survived the development pressures of a downtown have remained in active use.

What struck me while walking toward the spires in downtown Buffalo was how I typically eliminate or discount spires for secular buildings that I find while on these searches. In Buffalo, I felt that if I’m calling my approach “the story of the spires” leaving out the secular spires leaves out a part of the story.1 The secular spires that caught my eye were for buildings across a spectrum of uses. The Erie County building (1872); a former US Post Office (1901), now a part of SUNY Buffalo’s campus; and the former headquarters of the Buffalo General Electric Company (1912), now an office building, were the three secular spires that caught my eye. These three buildings underscore the larger trend in monumental architecture passing from religious to government to corporate buildings.

Below, I share photos of both the sacred and the secular spires that I found in downtown Buffalo.

Sacred Spires

Secular Spires

  1. For those of you who are word nerds, I double checked the definition of spire as I typically only use it when talking about religious buildings, so I wanted to make sure that the term applies to the same kind of structure whatever the building’s use is. In doing this, I got the confirmation I wanted, but also discovered that Merriam-Webster’s #1 definition for spire is: “a slender tapering blade or stalk (as of grass).” ↩︎