Sunday, February 24, 2019
Home /  CHILLOUT  /  A building boom to last a millennium

A building boom to last a millennium

A building boom  to last a millennium

NYT Syndicate

Let me tell you, teenage readers of The New York Times, a story you might not believe. Eighteen years ago, we olds thought the world was possibly on the cusp of collapse ” not from war, not from ecological meltdown, but from a programming bug on our VCRs, our beepers and other gadgets you have never used. It is awkward to remember now, but in the months before January 1, 2000, the United States spent $100 billion ” really, $100 billion ” guarding against a Y2K bug, which promised to bring the world's electronic infrastructure to a halt. It looks, from this distance, like a metaphor for the whole decade of the 1990s, marching into the future, still scared of what the future might bring. The real catastrophe, in any case, would come two Septembers later.
Fearmongering covers of Time, Newsweek and other publications form the opening salvo of 'Millennium: Lower Manhattan in the 1990s', a portal to those days of decline and revival now on view at the plucky Skyscraper Museum in Battery Park City. New York in those days, under Mayor Rudy Giuliani, was a fraught but confident city, charging into the new century with a vigour unknown since the 1960s. It was the town of Twilo and Balthazar, Lauryn Hill and Hideki Irabu; even Monica Lewinsky showed up by the decade's end, departing Washington to sell handbags at Henri Bendel. And it transformed downtown neighbourhoods, including the Lower East Side, the meatpacking district and especially lower Manhattan, which was radically recast as a residential and cultural destination.
It had a long way to go to get there. New York's oldest neighbourhood was still a commercial centre in the early 1990s, but Wall Street was nursing a hangover from the 1987 stock market crash and the savings and loan crisis. Midtown Manhattan had been drawing commercial clients away from Wall Street and the Battery. By the 1990s, Morgan Stanley, JPMorgan Chase and a still-solvent Bear Stearns had moved uptown, while New Jersey began to host back-office operations for many of the larger financial services groups. In the early 1990s, we learn in this exhibition, 28 percent of office space in lower Manhattan was unoccupied, a vacancy level not seen since the Depression. (Among the few beneficiaries of this real estate lag was Carol Willis, the pioneering architectural historian who founded the Skyscraper Museum as a pop-up in 1997. It bopped between vacant office spaces and storefronts until moving to its permanent home in 2004.)
And in 1993, it's too often forgotten, the World Trade Center was bombed, killing six people and injuring more than 1,000. A case here contains the front page of The New York Daily News on February 27, its headline screaming, New York's Day of Terror. It was nothing less, no matter how much worse the subsequent attack, and the cleanup took more than a year.
Reviving downtown would mean looking past financial services. Many older skyscrapers along Wall Street and lower Broadway, unappealing to commercial tenants, were rezoned as residential towers, their conversion accelerated by some sweet tax abatements engineered by Giuliani and the New York Senate. New York Magazine trumpeted a Wall Street Wonderland, and cooed that stodgy Wall Street would soon have blazing web speeds of 128 kilobits per second, accessible somewhere called a"cyber cafe."
Lower Manhattan also began to embrace its own heritage, as landlords who once valued only commercial viability now saw the buildings' residential and touristic appeal. No fewer than 20 towers were declared landmarks in the neighbourhood in the latter half of the 1990s, among them the opulent Standard Oil building at 26 Broadway, the Art Deco Downtown Athletic Club at 20 West St and the home of Delmonico's steakhouse at 56 Beaver St. Stanchions erected along Broadway and other thoroughfares plotted a new sequence of Heritage Trails, which were proposed by the architect Richard D. Kaplan, and presented the area's Dutch and British colonial history and legacy of commercial construction.
The wildest and, from this distance, most ridiculous project of those heady days was a new Guggenheim Museum, a tangle of suspended metal ribbons designed by Frank Gehry in the delirious days after his Bilbao institution opened. The museum would have occupied three piers south of the Brooklyn Bridge."He has raised the horizon of the water, in waves that lap against the base of the cliffs," wrote Herbert Muschamp, who was then an architecture critic at The Times; others effused that Gehry's titanium nimbus, four times the size of Frank Lloyd Wright's uptown spiral, would rival the Statue of Liberty as a New York landmark. It now looks more like an unbuilt monument to the ego of Thomas Krens, the Guggenheim's former director; it was shelved on New Year's Eve 2002.
Bracketing all the projects in this exhibition, it goes without saying, is the disaster that took place just a few blocks north of the Skyscraper Museum, and that transformed lower Manhattan in an entirely different way. It was the attacks of September 11, 2001, that truly announced the start of a new millennium, and more than 16 years later, construction at the World Trade Center is unfinished. What has arisen ranges from the sublime (Fumihiko Maki's stark 4 World Trade Center) to the scandalous (Santiago Calatrava's chunky, billions-over-budget transit hub), and a boom in residential real estate has been accompanied by the arrival of the same generic shops found everywhere, from Harlem to Hell's Kitchen.
To look at the first blush of reconstruction down here in the 1990s is to grow nostalgic for a New York that moved at a different tempo. One of the first New Yorkers to move into the old commercial towers of 1990s Wall Street was my father, and when I was a teenager, I used to thrill to the hush of nighttime lower Manhattan, its unlit canyons of steel not yet conquered by touch screens and organic grain bowls. I would look up at the Woolworth Building, at Trinity Church or at the two tallest buildings of all, Minoru Yamasaki's unloved behemoths of aluminum and steel. There was a future dawning, but it had not arrived yet ” and in those silent '90s nights, I imagined a far more vigorous one than this.

Subscribe to our Whatsapp Service