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A PRESERVATION REVOLUTION: RESURRECTING FRANKLIN COURT FOR THE BICENTENNIAL
Ryan Zeek
Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Science in Historic Preservation
Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation
Columbia University May 2019
Acknowledgments
I am greatly indebted to my advisor, Andrew Dolkart, for his guidance and feedback throughout this process. Likewise, I am similarly thankful for the input provided by my readers, Paul Bentel and Will Cook.
I received inspiration and support from other faculty members as well, including Michael Adlerstein, Erica Avrami, Françoise Bollack, Chris Neville, Richard Pieper, and Norman Weiss – thank you. I am also very thankful for the support that I received from Tyler Love and Andrea Ashby at the National Park Service’s Independence National Historical Park Archives, as well as from Heather Isbell Schumacher at the University of Pennsylvania’s Architectural Archives.
I would also like to thank Franklin Vagnone and Jeffrey Cohen, who kindly lent their time to answer my questions and point me in valuable directions. In addition, I would like to thank Glen Umberger, for it was during a conversation with him while I was an intern at The New York Landmarks Conservancy that the idea for this thesis first entered the world. I am also indebted to the Preservation League of New York State and the Zabar Family Scholarship for their support.
Without the members of my cohort, who listened to my ideas and struggles both, and buoyed me up throughout the whole process, this thesis would not have been possible – thank you all for being some of the most incredible colleagues that a preservationist could ever want.
I am also very thankful for the support and encouragement that I received from my friends and family, not only while I was engaged in producing this thesis, but throughout the entire time that I have been in the program.
James – I would not be here had it not been for your continued, patient, unwavering faith in me. And while the written word may not command the same attention as a piece of jewelry, I would argue that it is much, much more valuable…and the words that follow are all yours.
Table of Contents
List of Commonly Used Abbreviations and Shortened Terms i Glossary of Terms from National Park Service’s Administrative Policies (1968) ii
Chapter 1: An Impactful Preservation Project 1 Purpose of Research 10
Chapter 2: The Rise and Fall of Franklin Court 16 Construction, 1763-1765 16 Enlargement, 1786-1787 19 Rental Years and Demolition: 1794-1812 19
Chapter 3: Nineteenth Century Preservation and Perspectives on INHP 23 Nineteenth Century Preservation: Events that Shaped INHP 23 The Old State House, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 24 Shrines to the Father of the Country 31 “A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism” 34
Chapter 4: Early Twentieth Century Preservation and Federal Involvement 42 Preservation and the Federal Government 42 The Historic Village 44 The New Deal and the 1935 Historic Sites Act 47
Chapter 5: Mid-Century Developments and the Formation of INHP 51 World War II and Aftereffects 51 Urban Renewal and Cooperative Agreements: Formation of INHP 52
Chapter 6: Discord on the Road to the Bicentennial 60 Preservationists Fight Back 60 The 1966 National Historic Preservation Act 63 Bicentennial Planning 65 ARB Reorganization 69
Chapter 7: Celebrations Amidst Social Change 72 1876: The Centennial Celebration 72 The Late 1960s: Growing Distrust of the Federal Government 75
Chapter 8: The Great Reconstruction Debate 79 NPS and the Bicentennial 79 The Franklin Court Project 80 Researching the House 81 How to Proceed? 85 Reconstruction Precedents 86 The 1968 Guidelines for Reconstructions 88 Debate: 1968-1970 89 “…insufficient evidence has survived…” 91
Chapter 9: Envisioning Franklin Court 96 Staffing the Project 96 Venturi and Rauch 98 The Franklin Scholars 100 Origin of the Ghost Structure 103 Opening to the Public 109
Chapter 10: Contemporary Comparison and Views on Franklin Court 111 The Graff House Project 111 History of the Graff House 113 Against the 1970 Decision of Franklin Court 120 Reconstructing the Graff House 123 Reception of the Two Projects in 1976 129
Chapter 11: A Critical Look at Franklin Court and its Legacy 132 Franklin Court…Something Different 132 Franklin Court as an Award-Winning Design 133 Franklin Court as Modern Art 132 Franklin Court as Inspiration in the Field of Preservation 136
Bibliography 148
i
List of Commonly Used Abbreviations and Shortened Terms
American Revolution Bicentennial: the Bicentennial
American Revolution Bicentennial Administration: ARBA
American Revolution Bicentennial Commission: ARBC
Department of the Interior DOI
Harbeson, Hough, Livingston & Larson HHH&L
Historic American Building Survey HABS
Independence National Historical Park: INHP
National Park Service: NPS
National Trust for Historic Preservation in the United States: the National Trust
Philadelphia Centennial World Exposition of 1876: the Centennial
Wakefield National Memorial Association WNMA
ii
Glossary of Terms from the 1968 “Administrative Policies for Historical Areas of the National Park System”1
Preservation: application of measures designed to sustain the form and extent of a structure essentially as existing when the National Park Service assumes responsibility. Preservation aims at halting further deterioration and providing structural safety but does not contemplate significant rebuilding. Preservation includes: (a) Techniques of arresting or slowing the deterioration of a structure; (b) Improvement of structural conditions to make a structure safe, habitable, or otherwise useful; (c) Normal maintenance and minor repairs that do not change or adversely affect the fabric or historic appearance of a structure.
Restoration: the process of accurately recovering, by the removal of later work and the replacement of missing original work, the form and details of a structure or part of a structure, together with its setting, as it appeared at some period in time. Restoration includes: (a) Full restoration – both exterior and interior. (b) Partial restoration – exterior, interior, or any partial combination. Partial restoration is adopted when only parts of a structure – external internal, or in combination – are important in illustrating cultural values at its level of historic significance, or contribute to the values for which the area was designated. (c) Adaptive restoration – all or a portion (façade, for example) of the exterior restored, with interior adapted to modern functional use. Adaptive restoration is the treatment for structures that are visually important in the historic scene but do not otherwise qualify for exhibition purposes. In such cases, the façade or so much of the exterior as is necessary, should be authentically restored to achieve the management purpose so that it will be properly understood from the public view. The interior, in these circumstances, is usually converted to a modern, functional use. The restored portion of the exterior should be faithfully preserved in its restored form and detail.
Reconstruction: the process of accurately reproducing by new construction the form and details of a vanished structure, or part of it, as it appeared at some point in time. Restoration includes: (a) Full reconstruction. (b) Partial reconstruction.
1 Reconstruction guidelines from National Park Service, “Administrative Policies for Historical Areas of the National Park System,” September 1968: 9, https://www.nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/admin_policies/policy1-part1.htm.
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Chapter 1: An Impactful Preservation Project
1976 marked two hundred years since the declaration of American independence. This milestone, celebrated nationwide as the American Revolution Bicentennial (hereafter referred to as the Bicentennial), engendered years of planning and preparation at all levels, from the United
States federal government down to numerous municipalities and private groups. Due to the historic significance of this celebration, a large portion of the planning comprised historic preservation activities related to the founding and early years of the United States. Of the many preservation projects completed for the Bicentennial, this study focuses on one in particular: the abstract interpretation of Franklin Court, designed by Venturi and Rauch for the National Park
Service (NPS). Located within the boundaries of Independence National Historical Park (INHP) in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Franklin Court represents the site where Founding Father
Benjamin Franklin resided from May 1775 to October 1776, and from September 1785 until his death in April 1790 (Figures 1, 2, and 3).
A spare “ghost structure” of white steel tubing, Franklin Court’s abstract expression represents a deviation from traditional American preservation practice as it developed through the 1970s, which I will show through discussion of and comparison to relevant preservation projects spanning from the early nineteenth century through and including the Bicentennial. I selected
Franklin Court for this study not only for its seminal nature, but also for the ready comparison offered by another NPS Bicentennial project: the Jacob Graff, Jr. House (hereafter referred to as the Graff House), where Thomas Jefferson lodged in Philadelphia while drafting the Declaration
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of Independence (Figure 4).1 The Franklin Court and Graff House projects shared many similarities, in that they were long-demolished structures, associated with prominent Founding
Fathers, and were undertaken by NPS specifically for the Bicentennial. However, these projects differed vastly in execution, so much so that they could have been dated from different decades entirely. In addition, I will discuss how the abstract approach taken at Franklin Court impacted the field of historic preservation through relevant examples, both in the United States and abroad.
Figure 1: View of the Franklin Court site, looking roughly south from the Market Street entrance to the site, a covered passageway running beneath 316 and 318 Market Street. Unless otherwise noted, photographs were taken by the author at INHP in January 2019.
1 NPS currently refers to the Graff House as the Declaration House, likely to tie it more directly to Jefferson and the Declaration of Independence in the minds of visitors. As this study focuses on the Bicentennial project, I refer to the building as it was known then – the Graff House.
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Figure 2: View of the Franklin Court site, looking roughly north from de-mapped Orianna Street, which functions as an alleyway from Chestnut Street to this entrance.
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Figure 3: View of Franklin Court shortly after opening (summer 1976); note the visitor (center right) leaning in to view the archaeological ruins through the concrete viewport. Photograph taken by Mark Cohn, printed in David B. Brownlee, David G. DeLong, and Kathryn B. Hiesinger, Out of the Ordinary: Robert Venturi, Denise Scott Brown and Associates (Philadelphia, PA: Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2003), 70.
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Figure 4: View of the Graff House, looking roughly southwest from the northeast corner of Seventh and Market Streets.
Benjamin Franklin was described as having a “characteristic knack for being in the right place at the right time,” in that he “sign[ed] all the most notable declarations and treaties and serv[ed] on the most important committees and attend[ed] the most important conventions,” and accordingly
“he helped cause events to happen and is associated in everyone’s mind with them.”2 Like its namesake, Franklin Court was in the right place at the right time in order to make an impact on architectural design as applied in American preservation practice. The Bicentennial occurred at a
2 John Platt, Franklin’s House (Philadelphia: National Park Service, 1969), 14-15, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603916
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transformative point in modern American history, when domestic and international upheavals led a new generation to increasingly question the universal feelings of security and stability that characterized the United States in the decades following World War II. The traditional arc of
American development was changing socially, politically, and economically. Mirroring this period of transition, I view Franklin Court as a transformative preservation project when viewed in the context of INHP at the Bicentennial. Franklin Court’s setting was traditional, but its execution was fresh and unconventional.
As it existed in 1976 (Figure 5), INHP was very much a product of American historic preservation practice and thinking as it existed through that point in time. INHP was (and still is,
Figure 6) a large, historical park, comprising a number of contributing properties associated with the events and figures of the American Revolutionary period (1774-1783) and the early years of the American Republic (1787-1800).3 These sites, operated and managed by NPS, artificially exist within a cultivated historic atmosphere. Their separation from the surrounding, modern built environment was secured through urban renewal-related property acquisition and demolition.
3 Notable exceptions to this include architect William Strickland’s Second Bank of the United States (1818-1824) and the Merchants’ Exchange (1832-1833). These standouts were allowed to deviate from INHP’s established timeline due to being deemed “historically significant innovations in architecture,” as discussed by Charlene Mires, Independence Hall in American Memory, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 223. Refer also to Chapter 5.
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Figure 5: NPS map of INHP, 1968. At that time, Franklin Court was not yet constructed; the site is outlined in red (added by author). Map from Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.44, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
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Figure 6: INHP map, January 2019; Franklin Court is outlined in red (added by author).
The Franklin Court project, specifically executed for the Bicentennial, was conceived through a similar vein of preservation thought, namely the need to set aside a site uniquely associated with
Franklin, Philadelphia’s best-known adopted son and influential Founding Father. While Mount
Vernon and Monticello allowed visitors to see how George Washington and Thomas Jefferson lived, no such building in the United States offered the same experience for Franklin.4
4 None of Franklin’s residences may have survived in the United States, but his London residence – 36 Craven Street – currently operates as a house museum. Opened in January 2006, the building underwent a significant restoration to bring new life to Franklin’s years in the British capital (majority of the period from 1757 to 1775). The website rather cheekily invites the visitor to “Uncover the history of Benjamin Franklin’s only surviving home,” https://benjaminfranklinhouse.org/the-house-benjamin-franklin/.
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NPS historians undertook extensive research in the hope that Franklin’s home, demolished in
1812, could be faithfully resurrected.5 However, insufficient details existed, and NPS was not able to proceed with a straightforward reconstruction as had been hoped. Instead of a corporeal structure, the form that rose on the site of Franklin’s former house was a mere ghost of what had existed before, and unlike any other NPS project at that time.
As described by Venturi and Rauch, the form of Franklin Court:
is an open, stainless steel frame structure which outlines the general silhouette of the original building. We call this the ghost of Franklin’s house. It depicts the general form of the house, but its main purpose is to suggest the form and space of the court [the open, inner-block space where Franklin’s house stood with its gardens and associated outbuildings] without reconstructing the house – to reinforce the sense of place. Since the square shiny members occur minimally only at the junction of the different planes of the form of the house, this structure is, if structurally sound, illogical. The resultant visual abstraction of a house will produce a sculptural effect (in the Modern art sense) and a touch of monumentality, appropriate since this site is also a shrine to Franklin.
A sunken court surrounded by easy steps acts as an inverted pedestal for the ghost-frame. On the floor of the court the plan of the house is outlined in a parterre of white marble on a slate field. In this way the visitor can walk “through” the ground floor of the house reading interpretive inscriptions set in the paving.
Interrupting the white marble stripes are holes through which the visitor can see in situ the subterranean remains of walls, foundations, and the impressions of paving as they exist and dictate the form of the marble plan and steel frame above…The inclusion and exhibition of the “real thing” in
5 While Franklin Court was ultimately a Bicentennial project, research by NPS historians began as early as 1950, the year that NPS assumed management of what would come to be known as INHP (see Chapter 5). For the 1950 report, see Edward M. Riley, “Preliminary Historical Report: Franklin Court, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” March 1950, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, 1939-2011, Catalog #: 77252, Series III, Box 21, Folder 7.
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the design of this garden is important to lend immediacy and meaning to the whole.6
Instead of solid brick and mortar, the house was represented through thin steel and void (Figure
7). Orientation within the house was provided through marble and slate, which delineate the floor plan and provide descriptions of the house and its furnishings, some coming from
Franklin’s own letters (Figures 8 and 9). This approach was a departure from preservation practices of the time, and was more in line with modern art than with NPS architectural projects.
Purpose of Research
As with most works, this thesis has been a highly iterative process, throughout which my focus has shifted several times. The one constant has been my intent to inspire thought and conversation. The archives which I relied upon for the majority of my research hold countless files; the constraints of time unfortunately limited what I could uncover and include in this thesis.
I hope that other preservationists can take the work that I have been able to accomplish and build on it, adding to the discourse on the Bicentennial: what it meant at the time, what it contributed to the field, and what lessons we can learn from it, if any, heading into significant anniversaries to come.7
6 Venturi and Rauch, “Programming and Feasibility Study for Franklin Court, Independence National Historical Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” August 28, 1973: 4, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Interpretation and Visitor Services Records, 1852-2011, Catalog #: 74045, Series VII, Box 148, Folder 1. 7 In July 2016, ten years in advance of the 250th anniversary of American independence (2026), Congress passed the United States Semiquincentennial Commission Act of 2016. The act is similar to Bicentennial legislation, discussed below. For more on the Semiquincentennial Commission, see An Act to Establish the United States Semiquincentennial Commission, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 114-196, 130 Stat. 685 (2016).
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Figure 7: The Franklin Court ghost structure, representing the general form of Franklin’s house. The concrete hoods within the structure’s footprint are viewports through which archaeological remains can be viewed.
While my main audience is my fellow preservationists, I also hope that this thesis is accessible to and understandable by people outside the field. This hope originates from the many conversations that I have had with family, friends, and acquaintances along the course of my research and writing. When told that I was researching the Bicentennial, several people noted that they did not know much, if anything, about it. Accordingly, my approach throughout this
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thesis is to provide as much context as possible about not only the Bicentennial, but also the development of historic preservation practice in the United States.
Figure 8: Marble and slate outlining where the house’s east addition (1786-1787) stood. Note the steps to the left and top, which lead the visitor down “into” the house. The concrete hood in the upper right is one of the archaeological viewports.
In combining as much of these details as possible, I hope that this thesis also serves to fill what I perceive as a gap in existing scholarship on the Bicentennial and the Franklin Court project. In the forty-two years that have passed since 1976, many studies have been produced, all varying in focus. With regard to the Bicentennial itself, many of the sources that I identified covered social, political, and economic aspects of the era, which were useful in guiding my understanding of the sentiment of the time. From these I was better able to understand the “when” and “how” of the
Bicentennial.
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Figure 9: Slate paving stone inscribed with an excerpt from one of Franklin’s letters to his sister, describing the 1786-1787 addition (as represented in plan in Figure 8).
For the “where” and “what” of my thesis, I turned to scholarship written about INHP. For many of the reasons that I note below, Independence Hall has been the focus of many authors, with
Charlene Mires’s Independence Hall in American Memory (2002) in particular serving as an excellent overview of the building’s history and meaning. Several works offer perspective on
INHP, such as Kathleen Kurtz Cook’s 1989 Master’s thesis for the University of Pennsylvania,
“The Creation of Independence National Historical Park and Independence Mall,” and Constance
M. Greiff’s Independence: The Creation of a National Park (1987). The former offers insight on
INHP from its formation in 1948 through the 1950s; the latter covers INHP’s development from
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1948 through the Bicentennial. As part of her Bicentennial coverage, Greiff discussed the development of Franklin Court, but only as a straightforward recounting of events without comparison or a critical take on the project.
Like INHP, Franklin Court was also the subject of a Master’s thesis for the University of
Pennsylvania: Jeffrey R. Allen’s “Learning from Franklin Court: A Cultural Reappraisal of
Tourism and Historic Preservation at Independence National Historical Park” (1998). Allen’s thesis built off of his personal work experience in the fields of marketing and advertising, and presented a critical look at the interpretive elements – the underground museum and Market
Street row houses, not the ghost structure itself. From his marketing perspective, Allen engaged aspects of cultural tourism and offered recommendations related to improving visitor experience.8
Allen’s thesis served as an informative critique of the interpretive exhibits at the site as they existed over twenty years ago. While I am not certain to what extent, if any, Allen’s recommendations were considered by NPS, it did ultimately agree with his position on the aging interpretive elements. The underground museum, a major part of Venturi and Rauch’s design for
8 Allen’s critique of Franklin Court as a tourist site and his recommendations can be found in Chapters 4 and 5 of his thesis; see Jeffrey R. Allen, “Learning from Franklin Court: A Cultural Reappraisal of Tourism and Historic Preservation at Independence National Historical Park,” Master’s thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 1998: 93-182, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, Student Reports, Catalog #: 104419, Box 10.
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the Bicentennial, closed in 2011 for a two-year, $23.1 million modernization project.9 Since the museum as designed for the Bicentennial no longer exists, I do not focus on this aspect of the project, limiting my concentration to the ghost structure.
The “who” aspect of my thesis was revealed as I examined the other questions and uncovered a cast of characters – historians, preservationists, politicians, and architects, among others. All those involved shared one thing – a passion for preservation made evident through the documents I reviewed. Much of the “why” is not applicable to a literature review, as I derived this information from primary sources in the form of NPS documentation as well as reports generated by federal agencies engaged in Bicentennial activities. In writing this thesis, I hope that I can inspire at least one person to mine the rich collection of primary resources that exist, and either add to or branch off from my work.
9 Bobbi Booker, “Franklin Museum Reopens After 2-Year Renovation,” The Philadelphia Tribune, August 22, 2013, https://www.phillytrib.com/lifestyles/franklin-museum-reopens-after- -year-renovation/article_9a6828e0-2de9-5fc8-bf1c-2297968d99af.html.
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Chapter 2: The Rise and Fall of Franklin Court
Construction, 1763-1765
By the end of 1812, Benjamin Franklin’s home in Philadelphia – the collective house and grounds referred to as Franklin Court – no longer existed. His house had stood for almost fifty years within an open area – the titular court – inside the block formed by Third and Fourth
Streets and Chestnut and Market (then High) Streets. Among all the places that Franklin resided in Philadelphia, Franklin Court was significant in that it was the only house that Franklin built and owned outright; previously, he lived in a series of rented homes throughout the city.1
While Franklin’s reasons for transitioning from renter to owner at age fifty-seven could be numerous, the influence of his wife, Deborah Read Franklin, was likely a strong motivating factor. “My mother is so averse to going to sea, that I believe my father will never be induc’d to see England again,” wrote Franklin’s illegitimate son, William Franklin, to a friend in April
1763. “He is now building a house to live in himself,” the younger Franklin noted.2
By 1763, Franklin, one of seventeen children of a Boston soap and candle maker, had made much of his life: printer and writer, scientist and inventor, postmaster general of the American
Colonies, and Agent of the Province of Pennsylvania to the Court of St. James (colonial diplomat to the United Kingdom). Oxford University had even granted him the honorary degree of Doctor
1 Timeline of Franklin Court and Franklin’s long-standing status as a renter discussed by Betty Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report: Volume 1 (Philadelphia: National Park Service, 1975), 2-4, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603960. 2 Excerpt from William Franklin’s correspondence from John Platt, Franklin’s House (Philadelphia: National Park Service, 1969), 4, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603916.
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of Civil Laws, rendering him Dr. Franklin. But, a home-owner he was not. So, within months of returning from London in November 1762, Franklin was adding that title to his already lengthy resume. As with many other things to which Franklin set his mind, this would be no ordinary home. “He built it in a style consistent with his newfound station in life – moderate of proportions, plain on the exterior, richly worked on the inside; dignified in its courtyard site.3
As the site for his new house, Franklin chose the rear portion of several lots stretching from
Market (then High) to Chestnut Streets. These lots, which Franklin owned and operated as rental properties, had formerly belonged to his father-in-law, John Read. From 1734 (his marriage to
Deborah) through 1752, Franklin acquired the land from Read and Deborah’s brother-in-law,
John Croker. The Franklins acquired neighboring lots to the east and west in 1765, when the home was completed (Figure 10).4
Construction on Franklin’s house took about two years, lasting from 1763 through 1765. For much of this time, Deborah oversaw the endeavor in Franklin’s absence, as he had left for
London in November 1764 to once again serve as Pennsylvania’s agent to King George III.
While the Atlantic Ocean may have separated the two, Franklin kept in constant communication with Deborah – he providing advice and orders, she providing updates and assurances. Franklin would not return to Philadelphia until May 1775; at that time, his beloved Deborah had been
3 Franklin’s accomplishments discussed by Platt, Franklin’s House, 1-2; quote from Platt, Franklin’s House, 4. 4 Acquisition of property discussed by Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 2; additional details also provided by site plan prepared by Mary Mish, from Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 213.
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dead for five months, and his beloved house had stood for ten years, although he had not previously seen it.5
Figure 10: Plan representing Franklin’s property in 1765 (north to the right); house’s position within the interior court outlined in red (added by author). At this time, a driveway running along the western edge of the property provided access to the court from Market Street; this is indicated by a red arrow (added by author). Market Street rental properties controlled by Franklin are outlined in orange (added by author). Plan prepared by Mary Mish, from Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 213.
5 Franklin’s departure for London discussed by Platt, Franklin’s House, 7; for Deborah’s death and Franklin’s return, see Platt, Franklin’s House, 13-14.
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Enlargement, 1786-1787
Franklin’s respite in Philadelphia would again be short-lived; in October 1776, with the
American Revolution underway, he departed for France to serve as diplomat yet again. Franklin returned to Philadelphia for good in September 1785. At that point, he had lived at Franklin
Court for less than one and a half of the house’s twenty years. His daughter, Sally Franklin
Bache, and her family (husband Richard Bache and six children) had lived at Franklin Court for much longer. It may have been the size of the household (three adults and six children), or it may have been the fact that Franklin felt that the house was more the Baches’ home than his, but regardless of motivation, Franklin decided upon a large addition for the home. Situated on the east side of the structure, the addition was built between 1786 and 1787. Franklin also controlled the majority of the lots on the block between Third and Fourth Streets, and in his “retirement” would develop four row house buildings fronting Market Street to enrich his rental holdings
(Figure 11).6
Rental Years and Demolition: 1794-1812
Upon Franklin’s death in 1790, Franklin Court and the Market Street properties passed to his son-in-law, Richard Bache. As noted above, the Baches had been the primary residents of
Franklin Court during much of the house’s existence. Perhaps this extended period of residence made the Baches grow weary of the home, but whatever the reason, beginning in 1794 the
6 For details regarding Franklin’s return and improvements to his property, see Platt, Franklin’s House, 16-17.
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Baches largely lived elsewhere. They rented Franklin Court to a steady string of tenants who occupied the house and grounds in various capacities through 1812.7
Figure 11: Plan representing the elements of Franklin’s property after the addition to his house was completed in 1787 (north to the right); enlarged house outlined in red (added by author). In comparison to Figure 10, note the changed means of entry to the court – a new, more central driveway (indicated by the red arrow, added by author) emanated from a covered passageway. This is the same mode of entrance from Market Street that exists today (see Figure 1). Market Street rental properties controlled by Franklin are outlined in orange (added by author). Plan prepared by Mary Mish, from Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 214.
7 Tenants included the Portuguese minister to the United States (1794-1799), a boarding house (1799-1801), the Philadelphia Academy (1801-1803), a coffee house and hotel (1803-1808), and the African Free School (1808-1812); from Platt, Franklin’s House, 68.
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When Bache died in 1810, he had seven heirs; his estate was to be divided as equitably as possible among them. This was accomplished by 1812, at which time the interior area that comprised the former Franklin Court was subdivided into a number of smaller lots (Figure 12).
The subdivision necessitated clearing the land within the court, and accordingly Franklin’s nearly fifty-year old house was demolished, valued more for the land it stood on than as a building in and of itself. Franklin’s central, covered driveway was extended all the way through the block to Chestnut Street, and was called in turn Franklin Court (honoring Franklin’s former grounds), then Franklin Place, and finally Orianna Street. Numerous buildings lined Orianna
Street during the rest of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, covering all traces of Franklin’s house and its associated outbuildings and gardens. Evidence of
Franklin’s time at this site would not be uncovered until 1953, when NPS organized the first archaeological work on the area (see Chapter 8).8
8 Fate of Franklin’s property discussed by Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 3-4. Alley’s change in name from Edward M. Riley, “Preliminary Historical Report: Franklin Court, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” March 1950: 63, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, 1939-2011, Catalog #: 77252, Series III, Box 21, Folder 7. For more on the 1953 excavations, see Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 195; refer also to Chapter 8.
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Figure 12: Plan representing the Bache estate after subdivision, 1812 (north to the right). The former site of Franklin’s house is outlined in red (added by author). The central entry to the court was extended through the block, shown by the red arrow (added by author). New lots are outlined by blue (added by author). Plan prepared by Mary Mish, from Cosans, 1974 Franklin Court Report, 215.
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Chapter 3: Nineteenth Century Preservation and Perspectives on INHP
Nineteenth Century Preservation: Events that Shaped INHP
The demolition of Franklin’s house may seem regrettable in the preservation-minded views of today, but in 1812, demolition and subdivision likely better served the needs of Richard Bache’s seven heirs than had they tried to sell or otherwise profit from the property. To bridge the gap between 1812, when the home of a notable Founding Father was demolished, and the
Bicentennial, when Franklin Court stood once again (albeit in a different form), it is important to understand the larger context of preservation practice in the United States during the intervening period. Such an examination provides insight as to how the development of INHP followed traditional modes of practice, and how the ghost structure that rose over the remains of
Franklin’s house was such a departure from traditional preservation thinking through the 1970s.
Had Franklin Court been able to survive another decade, it might not have been so ill-fated, for as the 1820s progressed, so did something new in American society: the first stirrings of popular, community-based recognition that national memories and ideals could be vested in a historic building. By ascribing patriotic significance to a site, groups in early nineteenth century
America could attempt to leverage this association to forestall demolition or other market-related development – what we may recognize today as preservation-minded sentiment and action.1
1 For more thorough discussion about the development of American historic preservation practice, see Charles B. Hosmer’s Presence of the Past: A History of the Preservation Movement in the United States Before Williamsburg and Preservation Comes of Age: From Williamsburg to the National Trust, 1926-1949; William J. Murtagh’s Keeping Time: The History and Theory of Preservation in America; and Mike Wallace’s Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory.
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And, with only a few decades of national history to look back upon, such group-based movements focused their patriotic sentiment upon Revolutionary-period events and figures – one of the main thematic links that shaped twentieth century decision-making for both INHP and
Franklin Court.
The Old State House, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
One early, notable group-based movement took place in 1813 – a mere year after the demolition of Franklin’s house. What was at risk was not a residence, but rather a public building, one inextricably tied to INHP: Independence Hall itself, and its adjoining square (Figures 13 and
14).2 Known at that time as the Old State House, the building was over eighty years old, and had not housed the Pennsylvania State Assembly since 1799, when the state government departed
Philadelphia to follow the expanding population westward. In an effort to offload its legacy property in Philadelphia, the State proposed selling the Old State House and the surrounding land to the south for private development.3
A group of Philadelphians, in concert with the Philadelphia City Council, appealed to the State against such action. The petition, while focusing on the Old State House’s utility as a polling
2 In 1813, the Old State House’s outward appearance was distinctly different than that of Independence Hall at present. The central steeple, which today seems an inextricable element of the building, is a replacement. The State House was originally built without this distinctive feature; the first wooden steeple and brick tower were added between 1750 and 1753 – when the building had already been standing about twenty years. By 1781, the steeple was in such a ruinous state that it had to be removed. In 1828, the Philadelphia City Council commissioned architect William Strickland to extend the remaining brick tower and recreate the steeple. 3 For information on the state government’s westward migration and plans to sell the Old State House and associated land, see Charlene Mires, Independence Hall in American Memory, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 65-66.
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location during general elections and the square’s public health value (providing air circulation at a time when outbreaks of disease were frequent), notably pointed out that “the spot which the
Bill proposes to cover with private buildings, is hallowed to your memorialists [the citizens of
Philadelphia], by many strong and impressive recollections” associated with the formation of
“the only free Republic the world has seen.” These “recollections” tied back to the fact that both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were adopted within the Old State House’s walls. A further legal argument – that in 1735 the Provincial Government of Pennsylvania had declared that the State House grounds would remain an open public space in perpetuity – stayed any sale by the State at that time.4
Figure 13: View of Independence Hall, looking south from Independence Mall.
4 The appeal to the “hallowed” nature of the site discussed by Charles B. Hosmer, Jr. in Presence of the Past: A History of the Preservation Movement in the United States Before Williamsburg, (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1965), 29-30.
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Figure 14: View of Independence Hall, looking north from Independence Square – the square that was at risk in 1813, and which was argued should remain an open space in perpetuity.
However, the issue was revisited in 1816, when the State of Pennsylvania once again moved to liquidate its Philadelphia holdings and use the proceeds to construct a new capitol in Harrisburg.
State legislation outlined a scheme to divide the State House land into lots, with two new streets cutting through the square. A commission was to be established to facilitate sale of the property; outrageously, none of the commissioners were to be citizens of either the city or county of
Philadelphia. The bill did include an alternate to this course of action, however: if the city so wished, it could purchase the property for $70,000. The sum was based purely on land value, and was much lower than the anticipated price range of $125,000 to $200,000 that could be expected from a private buyer. In what could be viewed as the State getting a measure of
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payback on the city, the low price tag came with one condition: if Philadelphia did purchase the land, the square would need to “remain a publick [sic] green and walk forever.” With no way to argue the very point it had made but three years prior, Philadelphia acquiesced to the conditions of the sale. In June 1818, the Old State House passed into the city’s protective hands.5
The “strong and impressive recollections” that certain residents of Philadelphia had between the
Old State House and the republic’s formation led to its acquisition by the city, but to no greater recognition at that time. Far from being treated with cautious, historic reverence, the second floor housed the museum of Charles Wilson Peale. The Mayor’s Court handed down decisions in cases of civil disorder on the first floor. The concept of the Old State House as a historic site took a few more years to gain greater, more widespread prominence.6
Such grander associations developed more fully in 1824, when the Marquis de Lafayette visited each state (twenty-four in total at that time) on a thirteen-month, 6,000-mile tour. The noted
French ally and hero of the Revolution met patriotic fanfare from thousands of people at each stop he made throughout the country. His visit to Philadelphia was no exception. Throughout
August and September of 1824, fierce campaigns raged as to which military and civic groups would take part in the welcome procession, and what route the parade would take through the city – everyone wanted their block to be graced by the presence of the Marquis. For the city’s
5 1816 sale discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 66-67, and by Hosmer, Presence of the Past, 30. 6 For information regarding use of the Old State House, see Mires, Independence Hall, 68.
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reception site, officials selected the Old State House’s east room, the very room where the
Declaration of Independence was adopted and signed.7
In the years since the celebrated events of 1776, the east room had become worn with use, and was much changed. Accordingly, city officials appointed architect William Strickland to reinvigorate the room. Strickland’s embellishments relied more on his past experience as a theatrical set designer rather than authenticity, resulting in an east room that, while grandiose, was not quite historically accurate.8
Strickland’s focus was not restricted to interior work alone. In addition to reinvigorating the Old
State House’s east room, Strickland also designed a series of temporary, triumphal arches through which the procession would pass. The most elaborate arch, drawing its inspiration from the arch of Septimus Severus in the Roman Forum, was constructed across from the final destination – the Old State House.9
7 Details of Lafayette’s tour discussed by Marc Leepson, Lafayette: Lessons in Leadership from the Idealist General (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 162. Philadelphia’s preparations in August and September discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 68-69. 8 Strickland’s work on the east room discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 69-70. His version of the east room would remain until 1831, when the City Council hired architect John Haviland to more accurately restore the east room to its 1776 appearance. Citing difficulty finding accurate information, Haviland “gave the east room the aura of an eighteenth-century court,” as noted by Mires, Independence Hall, 76. Subsequent restorative projects were undertaken for the 1876 Centennial and by NPS in stages throughout the 1950s to the 1970s; refer to Mires, Independence Hall, 124-126 and 229-231, respectively. 9 For information on the arches, see Robert Russell, William Strickland and the Creation of an American Architecture (Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press, 2017), 85-86.
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In a speech delivered upon his arrival, Lafayette noted that “within these sacred walls, by a council of wise and devoted patriots, and in a style worthy of the deed itself, was boldly declared the independence of these vast United States, which…has begun, for the civilized world, the era of a new and of the only true social order founded on the unalienable rights of man.”10 Using language that focused on the sagacity, bravery, and devotion of the Founding Fathers,
Lafayette’s speech connects the events that took place in the east room – namely, those related to the Declaration of Independence – to the proliferation of free and democratic thought across the world.
It was not only Lafayette’s speech that highlighted the Old State House’s association with the
Declaration of Independence, to the detriment of all other events that took place within its walls.
The mayor also stressed the role of the east room as the “Birthplace of Independence” in a speech. In addition, the east room earned a new name, the Hall of Independence, foreshadowing the renaming that would later extend to the entire building. Appearing on official invitations for the reception and increasingly found in newspapers thereafter, “the Hall of Independence” grew in popularity, and as the 1820s progressed, the name extended beyond the physical limits of the east room to the first floor of the Old State House in general. This change in identification was not limited to the building alone. In 1825, when the city renamed many of its public squares, the association with independence extended to the “publick green and walk” to the south, newly
10 Lloyd Kramer, Lafayette in Two Worlds: Public Cultures and Personal Identities in an Age of Revolutions (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), 201.
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christened as Independence Square. Other squares received Revolutionary associations, with
Washington and Franklin Squares added to the city map.11
A final factor helped promote the Old State House’s association with the Revolution: the concurrent passing of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson on the fiftieth anniversary of the
Declaration of Independence: July 4, 1826.12 To honor these Founding Fathers, the city dressed the first floor of the Old State House in funereal black. Philadelphians gathered behind the building around an oratorical platform, to hear memorials on the former presidents, both of whom played a critical role in the drafting of the Declaration.13
In the years from 1813 through 1826, the Old State House transitioned from surplus state property into a physical manifestation of the American Revolution’s ideals. This transformation was driven by city officials and private citizens alike, and was reflected in patriotic language delivered in petitions and speeches. Lafayette’s visit in 1824 spurred thought about how best to fête a Revolutionary hero, leading to a revolutionary reimagining of a room that witnessed the
Second Continental Congress’s adoption of a revolutionary document. A new name, the Hall of
11 Promulgation of the east room’s new name and gradual extension beyond its walls discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 71-72. 12 While July 4, 1776 is the date associated with the Declaration of Independence, it is not the date that the document was signed, but rather the date that the Second Continental Congress approved the final wording. Signatures would not be appended to a hand-lettered copy until August 2, 1776. Interestingly, the resolution to declare independence was adopted on July 2, 1776; this was the date that John Adams felt would be commemorated – not July 4th. Details regarding the Declaration of Independence from William Hogeland, Declaration: The Nine Tumultuous Weeks When America Became Independent, May 1-July 4, 1776 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010), 173-176. 13 Remembrance service for Adams and Jefferson discussed by Mires, Independence, 72-73.
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Independence, began circulating, eventually expanding in association from a single room to an entire floor. The connections between the Old State House, the Declaration of Independence, and the Revolutionary period were further solidified in 1826, when commemorative events marked the passing of two Founding Fathers.
Shrines to the Father of the Country
Being able to name more than a handful of Founding Fathers is unfortunately not likely to be a widespread occurrence. In fact, a 2001 Gallup poll revealed an alarming deficiency held by
American college seniors when it came to American history – 42% could not accurately place the Civil War within the correct half-century. A 2008 survey of American teenagers revealed that about one quarter of those questioned thought that Christopher Columbus sailed not in 1492, but sometime after 1750.14
As telling as these results may be, I believe that if asked, a very high percentage of Americans could name one Founding Father in particular – George Washington. As the commanding officer who led American forces to victory over the British, and the country’s first president,
Washington’s contributions to the United States are widely recognized by the American public at large (as is his image, due to its prevalence on American currency). These next preservation projects memorialize Washington in the built environment.
14 Data from 2001 poll from Lawrence R. Samuel, Remembering America: How We Have Told Our Past (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 143. 2008 survey discussed by Sam Dillon, “History Survey Stumps U.S. Teens,” The New York Times, February 26, 2008, https://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/26/education/27history.html.
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The first project to memorialize a site associated with Washington shares some similarities to the city of Philadelphia’s acquisition of the Old State House. In the latter months of the
Revolutionary War, Washington occupied the private residence of the Hasbrouck family, situated on a high bluff overlooking the Hudson River in Newburgh, New York. Washington’s occupation lasted sixteen months, and his use of the house as his headquarters significantly left the mark of memory on the property. The Hasbrouck family re-occupied the home after the
Revolution, and it ultimately passed to Jonathan Hasbrouck, Jr., a son of the Revolutionary- period Hasbrouck. In 1837, Hasbrouck, Jr. borrowed $2,000 from the Commissioners of the
United States Deposit Fund (made possible by a rare federal surplus). Hasbrouck faithfully submitted his annual installments until 1848, when he failed to make the requisite payment. The mortgage on the house, secured for the original loan, defaulted to the federal government.
Accordingly, the house went up for auction.15
Only low bids were received, and the ultimate fate of the house and property remained uncertain.
Hoping that the State of New York would intervene and retain the property as a state asset, one of the Fund’s commissioners, Andrew Caldwell, appealed to New York Governor Hamilton Fish via extended correspondence. Understanding that there were “associations connected with this venerable edifice which rise above the consideration of dollars and cents,” Governor Fish deferred the matter to the State Legislature. A special committee convened to consider the matter. This committee recommended reimbursing the Fund in order to acquire and protect the property, noting how “the flame of patriotism [will] burn in our bosoms when we tread the
15 Details regarding the Hasbrouck house discussed by Hosmer, Presence of the Past, 35.
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ground where was shed the blood of our fathers.” Washington’s Headquarters thus acquired, the
State opened it as a house museum – notably the first such house museum in the country – on
July 4, 1850.16
Washington’s Headquarters in Newburgh, notable for being an early acquisition by a state government, is perhaps only overshadowed in its impact on the preservation field at this time by the case of Mount Vernon, Washington’s plantation in Virginia. In 1853, a group of businessmen planned to turn Mount Vernon and its considerable acreage into a hotel. As was the case in Newburgh, the property’s close association with Washington led to the matter’s referral to the state government. However, unlike with the State of New York, the Virginia legislature passed on acquiring the property, due to the high asking price of $200,000. With the
Commonwealth of Virginia thus stepping aside, a private citizen accepted the challenge of saving the venerable homestead. Ann Pamela Cunningham, member of a wealthy South
Carolina planting family, mobilized a group of wealthy, socially prominent white women, ranging across the North and South. By appealing to Mount Vernon’s status as the home of perhaps the most notable Revolutionary hero, Cunningham used her preservation campaign as a call to the higher bond of nationhood in the troubling times leading up to the Civil War. Her efforts were successful; by 1859, her Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association raised the steep sum of
$200,000 and purchased the home and the associated acreage outright.17
16 Quotes from Governor Fish and special committee, as well as details on opening of house museum from Hosmer, Presence of the Past, 36. 17 For Ann Pamela Cunningham’s campaign to save Mount Vernon, see Mike Wallace, “Visiting the Past: History Museums in the United States,” in Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory, ed. Mike Wallace (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 5-6.
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These cases exemplify the successful acquisition of two properties that were granted significance for their close association with Washington (both quintessential examples of “Washington Slept
Here” preservation). The preservation of Washington’s Headquarters and Mount Vernon also foreshadows the importance later placed on the site of Franklin Court – intended as a place where the public could similarly honor Franklin, inhabiting for a time the very site where he once resided. In addition, Cunningham’s rallying of support behind Mount Vernon shows the growing strength of community-based preservation sentiment. Extending beyond the residents of a single city, as was the case with the Old State House, Cunningham was able to appeal to women across the United States, be they from the North or the South, by reaching back to shared
Revolutionary roots. While these cases were successful in their preservation aims, even unsuccessful movements can lend some form of understanding to the American preservation field.
“A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism”
A notable “lost” building is the manor house of John Hancock, whose contribution as a Founding
Father is today perhaps most closely associated with his oversized signature on the Declaration of Independence. One of the richest men in the American Colonies at the time of the Revolution,
Hancock presided over the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. He later served as the first and third Governor of Massachusetts, from 1780 through 1785 and then again from 1787 until his death in 1793. Hancock’s wealth was clearly made evident in the form of his lavish manor house (Figure 15), prominently situated on top of Boston’s Beacon Hill overlooking
Boston Common. Constructed in 1735 by his father, Thomas Hancock, the mansion “was basically Georgian in style. The large center entrance faced south [toward the Common], with
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the house perfectly balanced on either side. It stood about two and a half stories and had three dormers jutting out from a gambrel roof. There were at least a dozen main rooms and many smaller ones, including a room for china…Outside the house was a series of very elegant gardens, dominated by a wide variety of fruit-bearing and decorative trees.”18
Figure 15: Drawing of the Hancock mansion by A.J. Davis, published by John Pendleton, circa 1828. Davis’s drawing from Lorna Condon and Richard C. Nylander, “A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism,” Historic New England 6, no. 1 (Summer 2005): 3, https://issuu.com/historicnewengland/docs/historic_new_england_summer_2005.
18 Description of Hancock mansion from William M. Fowler, Jr., The Baron of Beacon Hill: A Biography of John Hancock (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1980), 14.
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Hancock resided in his mansion during both gubernatorial tenures, and desired to pass the brown granite manor to the Commonwealth upon his death. However, Hancock died in 1793 before a will could be executed to reflect this wish. Two years later, a tract of Hancock’s substantial land holdings was purchased by the Commonwealth for the new Massachusetts State House (1795-
1798, Charles Bulfinch, architect; now the west wing of the present State House). The mansion, though, remained in family hands, passing to Hancock’s nephew, also named John Hancock.
The younger Hancock did not share the same high-minded wish for the fate of the manor; his will expressed the hope that the mansion would remain in the family, or at the very least, would not be sold until four years after his death.19
After the younger Hancock’s death in 1859, his heirs paid no heed to his wish. Almost immediately, they offered to sell the mansion to the Commonwealth for the price of $100,000.
With Governor Nathaniel P. Banks endorsing acquisition of the house for use as the official gubernatorial residence, the matter rested with the legislature for further action. The legislature found in favor of purchase, but under certain conditions. The first stipulation was that the final decision would be made by an eight-person committee of state officials, comprising the
Governor, the Lieutenant-Governor, the Attorney General, the Secretary of the Board of
Education, the Secretary of the Commonwealth, the Treasurer, the Receiver-General, and the
Auditor of Accounts. Additional stipulations required a unanimous decision, and that the
19 Both Hancocks’ wishes for the disposition of the manor house discussed by Michael Holleran, Boston’s “Changeful Times”: Origins of Preservation & Planning in America, (Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), 91-92. For sale of land to Massachusetts, see Harlow Giles Unger, John Hancock: Merchant King and American Patriot (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 2000), 335.
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Commonwealth could not appropriate more than the $100,000 asking price. Furthermore, no alterations were to be made to the interior or exterior of the house, other than for purposes of upkeep. The final condition went against the Governor’s wish for the manor: if it was purchased, the Hancock mansion was to “never be used as a residence for the governor of the
Commonwealth.”20
Despite this final caveat, the commission did approve the purchase. Unfortunately, issues with finalizing the title to the property delayed execution of the sale. Years passed, and in 1863
(notably four years after the younger Hancock’s death) two real estate developers offered the
Hancock family $125,000 for the land on which the mansion stood. This offer was for the land alone, leaving the house’s fate uncertain. With the land sale successfully executed, the Hancock heirs attempted once more to secure the manor in the public’s possession. In contrast to the offer of 1859, the home, along with all of its furnishings, was offered free of charge, and instead of the
Commonwealth, the City of Boston was the recipient of the offer. Pursuant to this deal, the only cost to be incurred by the city would be the building’s removal from the site. A committee within the Boston City Council considered possible destinations for the Hancock mansion; the least expensive option was across the street in Boston Common. While seemingly the most logical choice, this course of action gave the committee pause. Would this convenient relocation set a precedent for having buildings in the Common? To avoid such a snare, other nearby sites were considered, but these came with an estimated move cost upwards of $17,000. Members of
20 Details on the legislative act from Acts and Resolves Passed by the General Court of Massachusetts in the Years 1858, 1859, An Act Relating to the Hancock House, Chapter 175, https://archive.org/details/actsresolvespass185859mass/page/328.
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the public did pledge about $6,000 toward the move, but the City Council ultimately scuttled plans for any relocation when one member reported sobering news from a builder with whom he had consulted on the matter. Per this individual’s expertise, the well-mortared joints would prove a challenge when separating the stones, effectively rendering the move much costlier than the estimated $17,000. Accordingly, with the City of Boston passing on the offer, demolition was set to begin in the summer of 1863.21
With demolition soon to commence, a public movement, led by publisher and antique book dealer Thomas Oliver Hazard Perry Burnham, launched a last-ditch appeal to the two real estate developers. Burnham’s plea to preserve was made by means of broadsides plastered across
Boston on June 6, 1863 (Figure 16). “Although the work of demolition has commenced” the poster read, “it is a question of some perplexity to decide how far it is wise or proper…for individuals to interfere to prevent the act of modern vandalism which demands the destruction of this precious relic…” With respect to the real estate developers, the poster affirmed that “they are gentlemen of wealth, they have made an honest purchase, and of course may plead that they have a right to do what they will with their own.”22
This concession to private property rights duly broached, Burnham’s broadside held a further message. In “full recognition of their [the developers] rights in this respect…we would
21 Discussion of the 1863 sale provided by Holleran, Boston’s “Changeful Times,” 92; see also Hosmer, Presence of the Past, 39. 22 Text from Thomas Oliver Hazard Perry Burnham’s handbill; copy reproduced in Condon and Nylander, “A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism,” 5.
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admonish them how dearly is purchased any good thing which costs the sacrifice of public associations so dear and so noble as those that cluster around the Hancock House.”23
Figure 16: Thomas Oliver Hazard Perry Burnham’s handbill from June 1863 protesting the demolition of the Hancock mansion. Part of the collection of the Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities, reproduced in Condon and Nylander, “A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism,” 5.
23 Ibid.
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If this appeal was not persuasive enough to effect any change in the minds of the developers,
Burnham’s poster concluded with the following warning: “These purchasers must at any rate be prepared to hear, during the whole of their lives and that of their remotest posterity…the frequent expression of public discontent. Argument may find them blameless, but sentiment will ever condemn the proceeding…It is not often that an opportunity is given to men of wealth to earn a title to public gratitude by an act of simple self-denial.”24
Even though the Hancock mansion did not escape the wrecking ball, the related events of 1859-
1863 are important to the development of preservation practice in the United States in that multiple levels of actors – from state, to municipal, to the people themselves – not only considered, but made efforts to achieve the manor’s preservation. At the state and municipal level, it is notable that such efforts to save the manor involved the expenditure of public funds – especially given that the second attempt was made during the Civil War, when public treasuries were likely stretched thinner than in previous years.
24 Ibid. Handbill courtesy of the Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities (SPNEA). Founded in 1910 by William Sumner Appleton, a Boston architect and former real estate broker, SPNEA’s goal was to protect and preserve buildings that were architecturally impressive, unique, or historically significant, while relying on scientific methods, curatorial management, and the forces of the real estate market. Focusing on a building’s architectural style as well as its age, as opposed to a strict association with a historic event or figure, was a development in preservation thinking from the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries. The loss of the Hancock house specifically resonated with Appleton, who considered its demolition to be “a classic in the annals of vandalism.” See coverage in Condon and Nylander, “A Classic in the Annals of Vandalism,” 2-8. For further information on SPNEA, refer to James M. Lindgren, Preserving Historic New England: Preservation, Progressivism, and the Remaking of Memory, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995); while the entire work offers useful insight, Appleton’s motivation and formation of SPNEA are discussed somewhat more directly on pages 47-57, with his sentiment about the Hancock house expressed on page 51.
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Particularly revealing, though, is the language used in the broadsides, which perfectly showed how preservation in the United States had matured by the 1860s. The poster directly addresses the question of the public’s role in preservation while simultaneously answering itself: “how far it is wise or proper…for individuals to interfere to prevent the act of modern vandalism.” The use of the word “interfere” shows understanding of the arguments to be made against preservation, that it goes against private property rights. But, by categorizing the demolition of the house as “modern vandalism,” the poster justifies the sentiment to save the house, casting the destruction as an uncivilized and uninformed action. Preservation’s movement into the public sphere as a matter of concern for all, as opposed to a privileged few, is further shown by the final admonition. By warning that public sentiment and condemnation would follow the developers not just for their lives, but for those of “their remotest posterity,” preservation-minded
Bostonians were indicating that the memory of the public as a whole would register the loss.
Public memory and association were beginning to go beyond physicality and into a ghost realm of what was no longer – a consideration that would later play a role in how the Franklin Court project was ultimately executed.
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Chapter 4: Early Twentieth Century Preservation and Federal Involvement
Preservation and the Federal Government
By the latter half of the nineteenth century, preservation movements in the United States were fostered by the public, as well as by state and municipal governments. The federal government, on the other hand, was a relative nonentity in preservation practice, reflecting the states’-rights- centric nature of national government during the nineteenth century. This would change, however, as externalities related to the United States’ territorial growth encouraged an increase in federal involvement. By the first decade of the twentieth century, much of the West had been opened up to European-American settlement and resource exploitation, achieved by decades of conflict that displaced Native American groups. The Native Americans may have been relocated, but their built environment remained, a good portion of which was situated on southwestern public land administered by the Department of the Interior (DOI). These Native
American sites contained troves of cultural items, which were of interest to museums and private collectors alike – the latter often resorting to looting and careless destruction in pursuit of financial profit. Prompted by academics in the fields of anthropology and archaeology, Congress passed the Antiquities Act in 1906 in an effort to protect Native American archaeological sites.1
1 An exception to the federal government’s lack of involvement with historic preservation in the nineteenth century was the establishment, in the 1890s, of five Civil War battlefield parks across six states, an action which required acquisition of a large amount of private land. These military parks were initially administered by the United States War Department. For information on these parks, see Richard West Sellars, “A Very Large Array: Early Federal Historic Preservation – The Antiquities Act, Mesa Verde, and the National Park Service Act,” Natural Resources Journal 47 (Spring 2007): 270-271. For background on the drafting and passage of the Antiquities Act of 1906, see Sellars, “A Very Large Array,” 268-270, 290-294.
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The Antiquities Act (officially, An Act for the Preservation of American Antiquities), gave the federal government enforcement powers, allowing for fines and imprisonment (or both) in cases of damage caused to “any historic or prehistoric ruin or monument, or any object of antiquity, situated on lands owned or controlled by the Government of the United States.” Power to declare a site as a national monument was granted to the President of the United States; this power included setting aside an appropriate portion of surrounding land so as to allow for “the proper care and management of the objects to be protected.”2
Ten years later, the Antiquities Act would be joined by another important piece of preservation law: the National Park Service Organic Act of 1916 (officially, An Act to Establish a National
Park Service, and for Other Purposes). Situated within the DOI, NPS was tasked to “promote and regulate the use of the Federal areas known as national parks, monuments, and reservations…” so as to “provide for the enjoyment of the same in such manner and by such means as will leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.” NPS assumed supervisory authority over existing national parks and national monuments. Initially only responsible for managing national parks and monuments under DOI jurisdiction, over time NPS came to acquire other such properties from the Departments of War and Agriculture, so that by
1933 natural and historic/archaeological federal properties were consolidated under NPS control.3
2 An Act for the Preservation of American Antiquities, Pub. L. No. 59-209, 34 Stat. 225 (1906). 3 An Act to Establish a National Park Service, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 64-235, 39 Stat. 535 (1916). For background on the 1916 act, refer to Sellars, “A Very Large Array,” 303- 310. Reorganization of federal property largely achieved through Exec. Order No. 6166, 5 U.S.C. § 124-132 (1933).
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Significant to the NPS mandate is the need to preserve national parks and monuments in such a way as to ensure that they will be “unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.” This condition can be interpreted to show the role perceived for the parks and monuments within
American society; as something to be maintained for posterity, it can be implied that these national sites are treasures, to be visited and admired by the public. Throughout the twentieth century, NPS would execute this duty through different approaches, but the desired result would always be to ensure site preservation through responsible stewardship. This idea of responsible stewardship would resonate during the decision-making process for the Franklin Court project, particularly in questioning how exactly to interpret the site for the public.
The Historic Village
NPS and increased federal regulatory/enforcement powers were vital to the development of
INHP and ultimately Franklin Court, but equally as important was the next big preservation movement of the early twentieth century: the historic village. Expanding upon the house museum model of Washington’s Headquarters and Mount Vernon, the historic village was just that – instead of a single building or small group of buildings, the historic village presented a variety of structures in the larger context of a historic settlement. The earliest examples of these villages were spearheaded by Henry Ford and John D. Rockefeller, Jr., powerful businessmen who possessed the resources to pursue this new venture in American heritage.
Henry Ford’s first experiments in the preservation field were with restorations of his family farm and a childhood schoolhouse. In 1923, Ford expanded beyond preservation limited to his personal story, and intervened to save the Wayside Inn, a historic structure in Sudbury,
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Massachusetts. By 1928, he was recreating an early American village next to his Industrial
Museum in Dearborn, Michigan. To create his “Greenfield Village,” Ford imported a windmill from Cape Cod, a courthouse where Abraham Lincoln once argued law, a few slave cabins
(placed to the rear of Lincoln’s courthouse), an old inn, a firehouse from New Hampshire, and a variety of old shops. Greenfield Village opened to the public in October 1929. Visitation records were not kept until 1934, at which time guides began recording daily happenings in a typed “Greenfield Village Journal.” That year, about 243,000 people visited Greenfield Village; six years later, in 1940, that number would increase by well over two-and-a-half times to about
633,000 visitors.4
Ford’s Greenfield Village represented a collection of disparate elements, sourced from around the United States and combined in one geographic location; any greater level of interpretation, such as how such elements would relate to each other, was not possible, as they represented a wide variety of time periods and locales. This would be remedied by John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s grand project, Colonial Williamsburg. Formerly the capital of the Colony and the
Commonwealth of Virginia, in 1780 Williamsburg was abandoned by the state government in favor of Richmond. This relocation largely spared Williamsburg from the development pressures of the nineteenth century, and much of the historic fabric was left to slowly deteriorate.
The idea of restoring the town was first proposed in 1924 by W.A.R. Goodwin, a minister from
4 For information on Ford’s preservation activities and Greenfield Village (including visitation figures), see Mike Wallace, “Visiting the Past: History Museums in the United States,” in Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory, ed. Mike Wallace (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 10-11. Opening day and daily journals discussed by Jessie Swigger, “History is Bunk”: Assembling the Past at Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village (Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2014), 1 and 89, respectively.
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the area. Given Ford’s prominence in 1920s preservation circles, Goodwin initially appealed to him, but to no avail. The next industrialist that Goodwin targeted, John D. Rockefeller, Jr, signed onto the idea. Beginning in 1926, using Rockefeller’s funds, Goodwin set about acquiring properties in Williamsburg.5
Restorative work was assigned to Boston architect William G. Perry. In consultation with
Rockefeller and an interdisciplinary group of experts from the fields of history, architecture, landscape architecture, and archaeology, Perry decided that the 1790s were the period of significance to which the town should be restored. Accordingly, about 720 buildings dating from after that period were demolished, and eighty-two surviving buildings were restored to how it was thought that they would have looked in the 1790s. To complete the ambience, 341 buildings were reconstructed over their historic foundations. The bulk of the work was completed by the mid-1930s at a cost of about $79 million. Upon opening in 1934, Rockefeller’s Colonial
Williamsburg presented the public with a sterilized vision of colonial America. Gone were the mud, and flies, and social inequities (slavery was not mentioned or interpreted in any way).
Williamsburg was “a corporate world: planned, orderly, tidy, with no dirt, no smell, no visible signs of exploitation.” It was a world of the elite, with “the 90 percent who create the wealth” completely removed.6
5 Information on Williamsburg from Wallace, “Visiting the Past,” 14. 6 Acquisition of Perry as lead architect and composition of team from Diane Lea, “America’s Preservation Ethos: A Tribute to Enduring Ideals,” in A Richer Heritage: Historic Preservation in the Twenty-First Century, ed. Robert E. Stipe (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2003), 5. Establishment of period of significance, scope of work performed, and quotes from Wallace, “Visiting the Past,” 14-15.
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Neither village presented a fully accurate portrayal of the past. Ford mixed his histories at
Greenfield Village, while Rockefeller’s Colonial Williamsburg excluded certain “undesirable” parts of history entirely. These interpretive issues aside, both stand out as the progenitors of the historic village concept – the idea that experiencing history in a more planned and cultivated environment could tell a better story than experiencing a site isolated from any greater, surrounding context. This idea would feature prominently in the vision for INHP: an urban historical park, consisting of a variety of contributing properties narratively linked to the events of the American Revolutionary period and the early years of the American Republic.
The New Deal and the 1935 Historic Sites Act
Since the Old Pennsylvania State House (hereafter referred to as Independence Hall) serves as the focal and spiritual anchor for the park, INHP might not exist today if the city of Philadelphia had not acquired Independence Hall in 1818. But, INHP owes its existence to more than this acquisition alone. A key element in the park’s formation was a variety of preservation-minded activities undertaken by the municipal, state, and federal governments. Such governmental involvement in historic preservation grew throughout the nineteenth century, with all levels of government firmly engaged in preservation matters by 1906, when Congress passed the
Antiquities Act.
Federal involvement increased with the establishment of the NPS in 1916, and would continue to grow as a result of initiatives taken during the New Deal period (1933-1940) in the form of job- creation programs and enabling legislation. Throughout the 1930s, these federal programs mobilized an emerging corps of experts who had practiced preservation ideas and approaches at
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historic villages such as Greenfield Village and Colonial Williamsburg. This increasingly professional group of practitioners would swell NPS ranks during its consolidation of management over federal parks and monuments. One of the most important New Deal job- creation programs that directly affected the field of historic preservation was the Historic
American Building Survey (HABS).7
Established in December 1933, HABS mobilized upward of twelve hundred unemployed architects in the field to execute the first comprehensive, standardized survey of America’s historic structures. To this end, HABS architects prepared information cards for each historic building surveyed, ranging from high-style to the vernacular. Measured drawings and photographs rounded out many of the surveys. By 1941 – when the United States entered the
Second World War – over 7,000 structures had been recorded. About one-third had been measured and drawn, and at least half of the files had at least one photograph. The architectural archive thus created was deposited into the care of the Library of Congress; these records would serve as an important source for preservation scholarship, and even informed some of the decisions that would be later made while working on the many sites incorporated into INHP.8
7 HABS was established closely on the heels of Executive Order 6166, which reorganized federal parks and monuments under NPS management; see Chapter 4, note 3. 8 Date of establishment for HABS program from National Park Service, American Place: The Historic American Buildings Survey at Seventy-Five Years: 1933-2008, 6, https://hdl.handle.net/2027/pur1.32754081159497. Number of architects from Mike Wallace, “Preserving the Past: Historic Preservation in the United States,” in Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory, ed. Mike Wallace (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 184. For additional background, see National Park Service, American Place, 1 and 8; final report figures from National Park Service, American Place, 13. Library of Congress as archival custodian and role of archives in the field from Charles B. Hosmer, Jr, Preservation Comes of Age: From Williamsburg to the National Trust, 1926-1949, Vol. 1 (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1981), 548-549 and 561.
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While HABS captured and recorded relevant details on America’s historic fabric, the program was at its core only a temporary form of job-creation, and only focused on gathering information
– any type of preservation-related intervention was not a part of the program. Federal involvement in historic preservation remained statutorily limited. NPS only had managerial authority over national parks and monuments, which were established by Congress or declared by the President. The level of control that the federal government exercised over historically significant property would change as a result of the 1935 Historic Sites Act (officially, An Act to
Provide for the Preservation of Historic American Sites, Buildings, Objects, and Antiquities of
National Significance, and for Other Purposes). Signed into law on August 21, 1935, the
Historic Sites Act explicitly “declared that it is a national policy to preserve for public use historic sites, buildings and objects of national significance for the inspiration and benefit of the people of the United States.” Even though “national significance” could be open to interpretation, the legislation significantly categorized preservation as a national benefit. It also codified the documentation activities carried out by HABS, making historic site research an essential NPS function. The act additionally noted the need to “make a survey of historic and archaeologic sites, buildings, and objects for the purpose of determining which possess exceptional value as commemorating or illustrating the history of the United States.”9
Furthermore, the act authorized the Secretary of the Interior, through NPS, to “acquire, in the name of the United States by gift, purchase, or otherwise any property, personal or real” with
9 An Act to Provide for the Preservation of Historic American Sites, Buildings, Objects, and Antiquities of National Significance, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 74-292, 49 Stat. 666 (1935).
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corresponding Congressional appropriation, and to “contract and make cooperative agreements with States, municipal subdivisions, corporations, associations, or individuals…to protect, preserve, maintain, or operate any historic or archaeologic building, site, object, or property.”
With regard to such purchased or contracted property, the act further allowed for the following: restoration, reconstruction, rehabilitation, preservation, and overall maintenance; posting and maintenance of informational and commemorative plaques; and site operation and management for the benefit of the public (including the authority to charge appropriate admission fees).10
The 1935 Historic Sites Act therefore brought about several significant developments.
Surveying historic properties and keeping record of those deemed nationally significant established the concept of national historic sites; further, these significant sites were to be thoroughly researched and could be marked by tablets as appropriate to inform the public. This landmarking was a precursor to the National Register system, which would be created by legislation in 1966. Additionally, NPS gained authorization to not only acquire property directly or enter into cooperative agreements, but also to operate such sites. When necessary, NPS was also able to intervene as appropriate, either restoring, rehabilitating, or otherwise maintaining a historic site under its purview. These powers were essential to the formation of INHP. Without the authority to enter into cooperative agreements, NPS would not have been able to assume curatorial responsibility over Independence Hall and Independence Square in 1950.
10 Ibid.
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Chapter 5: Mid-Century Developments and the Formation of INHP
World War II and Aftereffects
As was the case with most non-war related initiatives, historic preservation matters receded in the federal government’s priorities during the years the United States was engaged in the Second
World War – from the declaration of war in December 1941 through the signing of the Japanese document of surrender in September 1945. After the war, federal priorities shifted once again, this time toward stimulating national development, much of which came at the expense of densely settled urban areas. National legislation established favorable loan terms for veterans
(the 1944 G.I. Bill); appropriated funds to allow cities to purchase, clear, and redevelop areas deemed to be slums ravaged by blight (the Housing Acts of 1949 and 1954); and funded the construction of the Interstate Highway System (the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956).1
As a result, there was a decades-long population shift of the post-war, largely white, middle class from urban areas toward sprawling webs of suburbs, connected by an ever-expanding national highway system. The urban fabric targeted for demolition and renewal as public housing most often comprised older, historic properties. The highway system likewise claimed swaths of downtown areas, cutting apart once tightly-knit city centers. The severity of the destruction
1 War-time curtailment of federal historic preservation activities and post-war change in focus discussed by Mike Wallace, “Preserving the Past: Historic Preservation in the United States,” in Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory, ed. Mike Wallace (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 185-186. The 1944 G.I. Bill is officially An Act to Provide Federal Government Aid for the Readjustment in Civilian Life of Returning World War II Veterans, Pub. L. No. 78-346, 58 Stat. 284 (1944). The Housing Act of 1949 is Pub. L. No. 81- 171, 63 Stat. 413 (1949); the Housing Act of 1954 is Pub. L. No. 83-560, 68 Stat. 590 (1954). The Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956 is Pub. L. No. 84-627, 70 Stat. 374 (1956).
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during the post-war period can be expressed through a simple tally: by 1966, about one-half of all the properties documented by HABS thirty years prior had been demolished.2
Urban Renewal and Cooperative Agreements: Formation of INHP
As devastating as it was to historic urban fabric, block clearance in the name of urban renewal would be leveraged as a tool to create the wide-open areas that compose INHP. Agitation for a wide-reaching, national park centered on the Independence Hall area can be traced back to the fall of 1941, when Isidor Ostroff, a member of the Pennsylvania legislature representing
Philadelphia’s Fifth Ward (which included Independence Hall and Independence Square), advocated for federal action. A petition addressed to Congress proposed the creation of a national park, to be bounded by Second and Sixth Streets (four blocks), from Sansom to
Chestnut Streets (half a block). Ostroff’s motivation came from the shoddy housing stock in the area. With the federal government exercising control in the area, he felt that the neighborhood would be revitalized. Unfortunately, the attack on Pearl Harbor only a few months later doomed this idea.3
However, the idea of a national park centered on Independence Hall found support in an influential Philadelphian: Judge Edwin O. Lewis. As one of the founders of the Independence
Hall Association in 1942, Lewis championed the national park campaign for the next six years.
In 1946, Congress authorized an exploratory commission – the Philadelphia National Shrines
2 Estimate of HABS-surveyed properties demolished by 1966 from Wallace, “Preserving the Past,” 186. 3 Discussion of Ostroff’s plan from Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 41.
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Park Commission. Chaired by none other than Judge Lewis, the Philadelphia National Shrines
Park Commission prepared a seven-volume report, advocating for federal acquisition of a three- block area east of Independence Hall (Figure 17), and submitted it for Congressional consideration in December 1947.4
In agreement with the spirit of the plan, Congress passed legislation authorizing action, stipulating operating agreements with the city of Philadelphia for Independence Hall and the
Carpenters’ Company (owner of Carpenters’ Hall, where the First Continental Congress convened). The authorizing language of the act reinforced the significance of the buildings in the area, identifying them with “the American Revolution and the founding and growth of the
United States.” Pursuant to the act, INHP would be established once NPS had assumed title to five properties (notably including the site of Franklin Court) within the recommended boundaries of the park, as well as to at least two-thirds of the proposed park area, chiefly bounded by Second and Fifth Streets, and Walnut and Chestnut Streets (the three blocks immediately east of
Independence Hall).5
While the federal government was to assume ownership over the area to the east of
Independence Hall, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania was to manage the area comprising three blocks to the north – what would become known as Independence Mall, between Fifth and
Sixth Streets. Per a 1949 agreement, the city would proceed with widening those two
4 Lewis’s activism for a national park discussed in depth by Greiff, Independence, 49-58. 5 Enabling legislation for INHP is An Act to Provide for the Establishment of the Independence National Historical Park, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 80-795, 62 Stat. 1061 (1948).
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thoroughfares, and the state would proceed with acquiring and clearing land for Independence
Mall, so as to create a more “tasteful” and “appropriate” setting (as noted in The Philadelphia
Inquirer, Figures 18 and 19). In May 1951, Judge Lewis ceremoniously plied the first crowbar to buildings that were doomed to fall so that Independence Mall could rise. Ultimately, over 140 buildings were demolished.6
While the city and state were coordinating their activities to the north, the city and NPS finalized their cooperative agreement regarding Independence Hall in July 1950. Pursuant to the agreement, the city would:
retain ownership of the Independence Hall group of structures and of the land whereon they are erected, and the park area adjacent thereto known as Independence Square, but hereby agrees: (a) To permit the Secretary [of the Interior] to occupy them exclusively…for the purpose of preserving, exhibiting, and interpreting them to the American people and otherwise utilizing them and their adjacent grounds for national historical park purposes. (b) To permit the Secretary to have curatorial responsibility for the care and display of such museum objects, furnishings, or exhibits of historic interest as may be available in the Independence Hall group of buildings… (c) To supply customary municipal services…without charge therefor.7
Notably, this agreement between the City of Philadelphia and NPS is still in effect, and will continue to be so “until such time as Congress enacts legislation inconsistent with its continuance
6 1949 agreement between city and state discussed by Greiff, Independence, 68-70. Lewis’s first swing discussed by Charlene Mires, Independence Hall in American Memory, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 216. Number of buildings demolished from National Park Service, Independence National Historical Park Business Plan: “The State of Independence,” Fiscal Year 2003, 42, https://www.nps.gov/inde/upload/business_plan.pdf. 7 “An Agreement by and Between the United States of America and the City of Philadelphia,” July 14, 1950, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, 1939-2011, Catalog #: 77252, Series II, Box 7, Folder 20.
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or expressly providing for its termination.”8 Accordingly, the city retains ownership of
Independence Hall, but all operations are under NPS purview.
Throughout the 1950s, NPS set about its managerial tasks. Unlike the state’s project to the north of Independence Hall, which merely entailed land acquisition and clearance, NPS was faced with cultivating connectivity between Independence Hall and the other historic structures that existed within the federal area to the east. “In 1954, park administrators noted that there was still no identifiable ‘park,’ leaving visitors confused.”9 Many visitors could walk past historic buildings on the way to Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell without realizing that there were already within INHP. What was missing was the “historic village” feel found in Colonial Williamsburg.
The eclectic mix of massing and programs among the buildings in the area were normal for an urban zone, but not conducive for a historical park.
NPS was therefore faced with the task of defining what should, and should not, be left within the confines of the park. Even though they were built after the intended period of interpretation, architect William Strickland’s Second Bank of the United States (1818-1824) and the Merchants’
Exchange (1832-1833), situated within the bounds of INHP, were not at risk. These two structures were deemed to be “historically significant innovations in architecture,” and were thus spared.10
8 Ibid. 9 Mires, Independence Hall, 221. 10 Reprieve for Strickland’s buildings discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 223.
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Figure 17: The Philadelphia National Shrines Park Commission’s report to Congress included this plan, representing its recommended boundaries for a federal INHP. The majority of the proposed land acquisitions extended three blocks east of Independence Hall (indicated by a star, added by author). The site of Franklin Court, a recommended acquisition, is outlined in red (added by author). Plan from Greiff, Independence, 61.
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Figure 18: 1953 photograph showing “tasteful” land clearance for Independence Mall. Photograph from The Philadelphia Inquirer, September 29, 1953, 69, https://www.newspapers.com/image/172655781.
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Figure 19: 1954 photograph showing the progress of “appropriate” land clearance. Photograph from The Philadelphia Inquirer, July 4, 1954, 93, https://www.newspapers.com/image/177482024.
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However, other nineteenth century buildings, regardless of their architectural merits, were seen as physical impediments that stood between the INHP visitor and the desired late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century atmosphere. “In the Cold War climate of the 1950s, presenting an unobstructed view of the nation’s origins prevailed over arguments to preserve reminders of intervening years.” Victims of federal land clearance were mostly commercial in character, and included the Guarantee Trust Building on Chestnut Street (Frank Furness, 1873-1875); the Jayne
Building, a proto-skyscraper on Chestnut Street (William L. Johnston, 1849-1851); and the Penn
Mutual Insurance Company’s cast-iron headquarters (G.P. Cummings, 1850).11
11 Quote, and buildings that fell to the wrecking ball from Mires, Independence Hall, 223.
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Chapter 6: Discord on the Road to the Bicentennial
Preservationists Fight Back
In the face of governmental activity that threatened historic properties (most often in the name of progress and redevelopment), preservation-minded individuals mobilized to mitigate the destruction in the late 1940s. Beside the fact that the federal government’s own actions were a threat to historic properties, one chief call to private action was a perceived shortcoming of the
1935 Historic Sites Act: the federal government was authorized to purchase property and enter into cooperative agreements, but it was not empowered to acquire threatened properties by eminent domain. Discussion among preservationists revolved around forming a national group that could accept gifts (monetary and real), and own property itself.1
Accordingly, in 1947 preservationists met in Washington, DC and founded the National Council for Historic Sites and Buildings (the National Council). Members of the National Council came from a variety of disciplines, including engineering, planning, and history, but a large number were NPS employees. Drawing from the model of the English National Trust – which assumed ownership of historic properties and operated them as museums – the National Council drew up plans for a National Trust that would promote historic preservation matters in the United States.
1 Limitation of the 1935 Historic Sites Act discussed by Charles B. Hosmer, Jr, Preservation Comes of Age: From Williamsburg to the National Trust, 1926-1949, Vol. 1 (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1981), 680; see also Charles B. Hosmer, Jr, Preservation Comes of Age: From Williamsburg to the National Trust, 1926-1949, Vol. 1 (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1981), 811. Details also provided by Mike Wallace, “Preserving the Past: Historic Preservation in the United States,” in Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory, ed. Mike Wallace (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), 184.
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Lobbying efforts successfully led to a Congressional charter in 1949 for the National Trust for
Historic Preservation in the United States (hereafter referred to as the National Trust).2
The 1949 enabling legislation noted as one of its goals the furtherance of the 1935 Historic Sites
Act, namely that the National Trust would function as a “charitable, educational, and nonprofit corporation” which would “facilitate public participation in the preservation of sites, buildings, and objects of national significance.” As was hoped, Congress authorized the National Trust to
“receive donations of sites, buildings, and objects significant in American history and culture, to preserve and administer them for public benefit, to accept, hold, and administer gifts of money, securities, or other property.”3
Pursuant to its charter, the National Trust, relying on both public and private funds, acquired and managed historic properties and sought to fulfill its educational mission by advocating for a high standard for interpretation at sites. The National Trust also engaged the public through publications, including Historic Preservation, a bimonthly magazine, and Preservation News, a monthly newspaper. In January 1966, the National Trust, in partnership with the Special
Committee on Historic Preservation of the U.S. Conference of Mayors, published a report with several findings on the state of preservation in the United States and recommendations for
2 For information on the formation of the National Council, see Hosmer, Preservation Comes of Age, Vol. 2, 813, and Wallace, “Preserving the Past,” 186. 1949 creation of the National Trust discussed by Wallace, “Preserving the Past,” 186; see also Hosmer, Preservation Comes of Age, Vol. 2, 861-863. 3 Enabling legislation officially known as An Act to Further the Policy Enunciated in the Historic Sites Act (49 Stat. 666) and to Facilitate Public Participation in the Preservation of Sites, Buildings, and Objects of National Significance or Interest and Providing a National Trust for Historic Preservation, Pub. L. No. 81-408, 63 Stat. 927 (1949).
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improvement. This report, With Heritage So Rich, noted the increasing mobility of American citizens, and the accompanying lack of sense of place. “If the preservation movement is to be successful,” the findings stated, “it must go beyond saving bricks and mortar…It must attempt to give a sense of orientation to our society, using structures and objects of the past to establish values of time and place.”4
The recommendations were many, as the report noted that “to carry out the goals of historic preservation a comprehensive national plan of action is imperative…[to] encourage, improve and reinforce public and private leadership.” The main suggestions were intended for implementation by the federal, state, and local governments. Chief among the recommendations for the federal government was annual funding to acquire threatened buildings and other sites that hold national historical importance. Another important recommendation was the creation of a National Register of the nation’s historic sites inventoried by NPS. These, and many of the other recommendations from the report were codified later that year in the 1966 National
Historic Preservation Act.5
4 Activities of the National Trust discussed by Wallace, “Preserving the Past,” 186-187. For National Trust publications, see Hosmer, Preservation Comes of Age, Vol. 2, 1066-1067. Original publication date from Special Committee on Historic Preservation, United States Conference of Mayors, With Heritage So Rich (Washington, DC: Preservation Press, 1999), 8; quote from findings from Special Committee, With Heritage So Rich, 193. 5 Quote from Special Committee, With Heritage So Rich, 194; recommendations found on 194- 197.
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The 1966 National Historic Preservation Act
The 1966 National Historic Preservation Act (officially, An Act to Establish a Program for the
Preservation of Additional Historic Properties throughout the Nation, and for Other Purposes), like the 1935 Historic Sites Act, made a specific declaration of purpose: “that the spirit and direction of the Nation are founded upon and reflected in its historic past.” Furthermore, the act confirmed that “in the face of ever-increasing extensions of urban centers, highways, and residential, commercial, and industrial developments, the present governmental and nongovernmental historic preservation programs are inadequate to insure future generations a genuine opportunity to appreciate and enjoy the rich heritage of our Nation.” With these threats appropriately identified, the act justified federal action in the realm of historic preservation as both “necessary and appropriate.”6
This “necessary and appropriate” involvement was to be implemented in a variety of ways.
First, as noted by With Heritage So Rich, there would be a National Register for “districts, sites, buildings, structures, and objects significant in American history, architecture, archaeology, and culture.”7 The act also established programs to match grants-in-aid to the states for preservation projects as well as to the National Trust to assist in its mission. Additionally, the act created a seventeen-member Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (the Advisory Council); its duties, among others, were to include “advis[ing] the President and Congress on matters relating to
6 An Act to Establish a Program for the Preservation of Additional Historic Properties throughout the Nation, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 89-665, 80 Stat. 915 (1966). 7 In cases when the variant spelling “archeology” is used in original source material, I here instead use “archaeology” for consistency, as this is the first-listed spelling in Webster’s.
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historic preservation,” as well as encouraging “training and education in the field of historic preservation.”8
In addition to these duties, the Advisory Council was granted authority to review any federal action that might affect a historic asset. As outlined in Section 106 (leading to the process being referred to as Section 106 review), “the head of any Federal agency having direct or indirect jurisdiction over a proposed Federal or federally assisted undertaking in any State…shall, prior to the approval of the expenditure of any Federal funds on the undertaking or prior to the issuance of any license, as the case may be, take into account the effect of the undertaking on any district, site, building, structure, or object that is included in the National Register.” Per this requirement, no federal funds nor any permits could be issued without first providing the
Advisory Council with details on the project and the effect it would have on any National
Register-listed property. Section 106 can be viewed as a direct response to the threat posed to historic properties by the federal government’s own hand. With Section 106 in place, any such action would at the least be subject to review prior to proceeding.9
The 1966 National Historic Preservation Act has been amended several times to form the basis of twenty-first century federal preservation law. The earliest such amendments mainly focused on the amount of authorized appropriations and the number of Advisory Council members. A key amendment was passed in 1976, at which time Section 106 was expanded to apply not only
8 Both quotes from this paragraph taken from the 1966 National Historic Preservation Act, Pub. L. No. 89-665, 80 Stat. 915. 9 Ibid.
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to properties listed on the National Register, but also to those properties that were “eligible for inclusion in” the National Register. This significantly expanded the purview of the Advisory
Council, and accordingly the number of historic properties that would be afforded oversight.10
The expansion of projects subject to Section 106 review was notably passed in October of the
Bicentennial year. With the amount of preparation for this landmark celebration, it should not be surprising that more and more historic properties were being brought under protection from unchecked federal action. In another interesting connection, preparations for the Bicentennial began just months prior to the passing of the 1966 National Historic Preservation Act.
Bicentennial Planning
The Bicentennial officially came into being through a Congressional joint resolution symbolically signed by President Lyndon Johnson on July 4, 1966. The resolution emphasized the importance of the upcoming anniversary by acknowledging that “the historic events preceding and associated with the American Revolution…are of such major significance in the development of our national heritage of individual liberty, representative government, and the attainment of equal and inalienable rights and which have also had so profound an influence throughout the world.” To properly prepare for 1976, a new national commission was created: the American Revolution Bicentennial Commission (ARBC).11
10 Early amendments to the 1966 National Historic Preservation Act include Pub. L. No. 91-243, 84 Stat. 204 (1970); Pub. L. No. 93-54, 87 Stat. 139 (1973); Section 106 expanded to apply to National Register-eligible properties by Title II of Pub. L. No. 94-422, 90 Stat. 1313 (1976). 11 Joint Resolution to Establish the American Revolution Bicentennial Commission, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 89-491, 80 Stat. 259 (1966).
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The ARBC initially comprised thirty-four private citizens and public officials, and was charged with preparing “an overall program for commemorating the Bicentennial of the American
Revolution, and to plan, encourage, develop, and coordinate observances and activities commemorating the historic events that preceded, and are associated with, the American
Revolution.” The ARBC had two years – until July 4, 1968 – to prepare recommendations for commemorative events. Its report, to be submitted to the President, was to consider not only types and locations of activities, but also how financial and administrative resources should be allocated. In addition, the report was to include proposals for any legislation that would be necessary to enact the ARBC’s recommendations.12
In its first years, the ARBC met infrequently, and its accomplishments were minimal. Indeed, delays seemed entrenched from the very beginning: while President Johnson signed the resolution creating the ARBC on July 4, 1966, he did not begin to appoint members from the private sector until January 18, 1967. That first year, the ARBC recommended legislation that addressed appropriations, ex officio membership, and extended the due date of its report from two years to three (July 4, 1969). Then, pursuant to a resolution from October 1968, all appointed members submitted their resignations to President-elect Richard Nixon on January 14,
1969. President Nixon appointed a new commission almost six months later, on July 3, 1969.
Given that the new commission could not prepare and submit a report in one day, the due date was adjusted ex post facto by Congress in October 1969, pushing it back another year to July 4,
12 Number of ARBC members and later legislative expansion to fifty from American Revolution Bicentennial Administration, The Bicentennial of the United States of America: A Final Report to the People (Washington, DC: American Revolution Bicentennial Administration, 1977), 2. Details on ARBC’s mandate from Joint Resolution, Pub. L. No. 89-491, 80 Stat. 259.
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1970. In agreement with this date, the newly assembled ARBC resolved, on January 20, 1970, to submit its comprehensive report to the President by July 4th of that year. The report was submitted as planned (albeit two years after the initial due date), and addressed three guidelines and three themes.13
The rather straightforward guidelines noted that “(1) the Bicentennial should be national in scope; (2) the celebration should extend from 1970 to 1987, with 1976 the focal year and July 4,
1976 the focal date; and (3) the Bicentennial should be a time for Americans to review and reaffirm the basic principles on which the nation was founded.” The chosen themes were as follows:
(1) Heritage ’76: a summons to every American to recall his heritage and to place it in its historical perspective (2) Festival USA: an opportunity to encourage every American citizen to expand his knowledge of this country and to extend a welcome to visitors (3) Horizons ’76: a challenge to every American to undertake at least one principal project which manifests the pride, priorities, and hopes of his community.14
13 Johnson’s delay in appointments discussed by Tammy S. Gordon, The Spirit of 1976: Commerce, Continuity, and the Politics of Commemoration (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2013), 23. For ARBC timeline from 1966-1970, see ARBA, The Bicentennial, 2-4. Legislation recommended in 1967 passed as An Act to Amend the Act of July 4, 1966 (Public Law 89-491), Pub. L. No. 90-187, 81 Stat. 567 (1967). For Congressional act that required the ARBC’s report by July 1970, see An Act to Amend the Joint Resolution Establishing the American Revolution Bicentennial Commission, Pub. L. No. 91-84, 83 Stat. 132 (1969). 14 1987 was chosen as the end of the Bicentennial celebration as it was the 200th anniversary of the United States Constitution. Guidelines from ARBA, The Bicentennial, 4. For themes, see Comptroller General of the United States, Report to the Congress: Planning for America’s Bicentennial Celebration – A Progress Report (June 6, 1975), 1, https://www.gao.gov/assets/120/114455.pdf. Second theme, “Festival USA,” was originally called “Open House USA”; see ARBA, The Bicentennial, 4.
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In keeping with the first recommended guideline, the ARBC also recommended that a variety of celebratory expositions be held across the nation. Some highlighted cities included Washington,
DC, Boston, Philadelphia, and Miami. The President, fully supportive of the recommendations, submitted the report to Congress in September 1970. Hoping to stress the international aspect of
Bicentennial activities, President Nixon instructed Secretary of State William Pierce Rogers to initiate the registration process for an international exposition, to be held in Philadelphia, which he felt “would be the natural focal point for this activity.”15
The Bureau of International Expositions approved the Philadelphia registration in January 1971, but much was still left to plan. Throughout the rest of that year, the ARBC busied itself with selecting a symbol for the Bicentennial (Figure 20), and opening four of ten planned ARBC regional offices. February 1972 saw the passage of legislation authorizing the United States
Mint to strike official medals, intended to raise revenue for Bicentennial projects. That same month, the ARBC also began developing a Bicentennial park plan, in which “indoor-outdoor cultural, educational, and recreational complexes which would serve as focal points for the
Bicentennial celebration” were to be erected in each of the fifty states. With this plan in the works, in May 1972 the idea for single-city international exposition in Philadelphia was scrapped, due to a variety of factors, chief among them being the estimated $1 billion price tag.
A year later, in May 1973, the ARBC also voted against pursuing its Bicentennial parks plan.
15 Submission to Congress and intent to hold international exposition from ARBA, The Bicentennial, 4; multi-city expositions and Nixon’s sentiment about Philadelphia being the “natural” choice from Comptroller General, Report to Congress, 1.
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While the ARBC felt the project was feasible, it was believed to be difficult to execute in the three years remaining before the Bicentennial, and would also cost about $1.5 billion.16
ARB Reorganization
The ARBC was struggling to make headway, and this was not lost on the public or the President; in February 1973, President Nixon sent a message to Congress asking for legislation to replace the ARBC. By December 1973, Congress had complied, abolishing the ARBC and creating a new body, the American Revolution Bicentennial Administration (ARBA), effective the following month. Pursuant to this legislation, the ARBA’s mandate was “to coordinate, to facilitate, and to aid in the scheduling of events, activities, and projects of local, State, National, and international significance sponsored by both governmental and nongovernmental entities.”
Additionally, “in order to assure a balanced program for the Bicentennial commemoration…the
Administration as a primary function shall prepare the master calendar of events of local, State,
National, and international significance which will take place between March 1975 and
December 31, 1976.” Strikingly missing from these duties was the ARBC’s charge “to plan” the commemorative activities.17
The ARBA was placed under an Administrator, and both an American Revolution Bicentennial
Advisory Council (ARB Advisory Council) and an American Revolution Bicentennial Board
16 ARBC accomplishments from 1971 through 1973, and Bicentennial park plan cost estimate from ARBA, The Bicentennial, 6-9. Description of Bicentennial park plan and single-city exposition cost estimate from Comptroller General, Report to Congress, 2. 17 ARBC abolished and ARBA established by An Act to Establish the American Revolution Bicentennial Administration, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 93-179, 87 Stat. 697 (1973).
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(ARB Board) were established. The ARB Board was similar in duties and membership to the
ARBC; the ARB Advisory Council was a twenty-five-member body of private citizens, appointed by the President, with “due consideration to the contributions, among others, of the
Nation’s youth, women, elders, racial and ethnic minorities, artists and craftsmen, and learned professions.” The ARB Advisory Council was to meet at least once every two months, and would advise the Administrator on all Bicentennial matters. Notable members of the diverse
ARB Advisory Council included Maya Angelou, Alex Haley, Claudia “Lady Bird” Johnson,
James Michener, and Betty Shabazz.18
Figure 20: The official Bicentennial symbol, designed by Bruce Blackburn of Chermayeff & Geismar Associates. Symbol from Official Symbol of the American Revolution Bicentennial, https://standardsmanual.com/products/american-revolution-bicentennial-ltd#.
18 ARB Advisory Council composition requirements from An Act to Establish the American Revolution Bicentennial Administration, Pub. L. No. 93-179, 87 Stat. 697. ARB Advisory Council members from ARBA, The Bicentennial, 29-30.
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How was it that after over seven years of existence, the ARBC was perceived to be so inefficient that it had to be abolished and replaced? Some considerations include a murky historic precedent, and the political and social climate of the late 1960s and early 1970s. With regard to historic precedent, the ARBC was tasked with planning a nationwide commemoration for the
200th anniversary of the country’s founding – not a common occurrence. Certainly, celebrating the Fourth of July was not a new concept at the time of the ARBC’s establishment in 1966, but as for a coordinated, nationwide set of activities, the ARBC had limited references.19 The logical model to build off of for the Bicentennial would be the Centennial. However, the commemorative events of 1876 had a very distinct focus – progress and commerce – and was officially celebrated in one city – Philadelphia.20 Suitable for the needs of 1876, neither a limited focus on progress nor a focus on only one city lent themselves to the lofty goals that the
Bicentennial (it was hoped) would achieve.
19 Interestingly, some scholars point to the Centennial as a reinvigorating year for celebrating the Fourth of July; see John Hepp, “Centennial Celebrations,” in A Companion to the Reconstruction Presidents 1865-1881, ed. Edward O. Frantz (West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 521, https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1002/9781118607879.ch26. 20 Even though the “official” Centennial celebration was held in Philadelphia, celebrations took place in other cities and towns across the country. Of celebrations in New York City and Washington, DC, The New York Times reported less than stellar accounts of certain commemorative approaches. In the capital, “the firing of a national salute at sunrise, noon, and sunset, is about all the public notice that will be taken of the day,” from “No Celebration in Washington,” The New York Times, July 4, 1876, ProQuest Historical Newspapers. Pageantry at New York City Hall was “very poor, and the exhibition in the interior of the building is about as beggarly as that outside. Neither the materials used nor the taste displayed in making the decorations are creditable…All the officials about the City Hall disclaim any responsibility for the trivial character of the articles used in decorating the building,” from “The City Hall Illuminated,” The New York Times, July 4, 1876, ProQuest Historical Newspapers. Additional local celebrations discussed by Hepp, “Centennial Celebrations,” 520-521.
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Chapter 7: Celebrations Amidst Social Change
1876: The Centennial Celebration
Officially the Philadelphia Centennial World Exposition of 1876, America’s 100th anniversary was celebrated in 236 acres of Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park, from May to November. It was presented as an international showcase for the development of American industry and overall technological advancement. Far from solely remembering the figures and deeds of the American
Revolution, the Centennial instead can be viewed as a means through which organizers (mostly east-coast elites from business, industry, and politics) sought to glorify America’s progress over the previous hundred years.1
While American liberty was held up for praise, in so doing, it was emphasized that America’s democratic freedoms were the progenitors of technological advancement and its accompanying domestic comfort and industrial accomplishment. The international aspect of the exhibition was intended to place the United States among the perceived European powers, drawing comparison to recent world fairs held in London, Paris, and Vienna. Average daily attendance for the
Centennial was about 50,000; considering the length of the exposition and admission figures – both paid, free, and return admittance – about one in twenty Americans attended the Centennial
1 Dates of the Centennial and background of organizers from Lynn Spillman, Nation and Commemoration: Creating National Identities in the United States and Australia (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 38-40. Location and acreage of exposition from Charlene Mires, Independence Hall in American Memory, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 122. Showcase nature of the 1876 exposition from M.J. Rymsza- Palowska, History Comes Alive: Public History and Popular Culture in the 1970s (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2017), 93.
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and were able to view such delights as the telephone and typewriter, both of which were not widely available at that time.2
Despite the forward-looking emphasis of the exposition, the American Revolution was not completely omitted. Independence Hall – by 1876 consistently referred to by that name by national periodicals like Harper’s and Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper – was back in the national spotlight. Even though its five-mile distance from the fairgrounds may have precluded a large number of exposition attendees from visiting, the building was immortalized as an image in guidebooks, postcards, and other memorabilia that made it home or were sent to friends and relatives who could not visit Philadelphia.3
While the Centennial’s main focus on technological advancement was not in alignment with the goals expressed one hundred years later for the Bicentennial, the social atmosphere of the United
States in 1876 somewhat mirrored the tensions and upheaval that America experienced in the late
1960s and early 1970s. In 1876, the country was still healing from the Civil War, and was enmeshed in interminable conflicts with Native Americans in the West (the Battle of the Little
2 For the Centennial’s presentation of democracy as leading to material comfort, see Tammy S. Gordon, The Spirit of 1976: Commerce, Continuity, and the Politics of Commemoration (Amherst, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 2013), 11; Gordon refers to historian John Bodnar’s assertion that “the framers of the exposition used it to show ‘that the past had been prologue to the attainment of a sophisticated material civilization.’” For the Centennial as a method of international comparison, see John Hepp, “Centennial Celebrations,” in A Companion to the Reconstruction Presidents 1865-1881, ed. Edward O. Frantz (West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 522, https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1002/9781118607879.ch26. Attendance estimates and types of exhibits discussed by Spillman, Nation and Commemoration, 38-39. 3 Independence Hall during the Centennial discussed by Mires, Independence Hall, 122.
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Bighorn, commonly known as Custer’s Last Stand, took place in June 1876). Sectional differences, rather than national unity, were more the rule, and less the exception. Due to
Reconstruction policies, South Carolina, Florida, and Louisiana were still under federal occupation. And, despite the Reconstruction Amendments (13th – 15th Amendments) and the associated federal enforcement acts, intended to counter racial discrimination, African-
Americans still faced exclusionary treatment – and much worse. Immigrants, Native Americans, women, and labor groups likewise faced prejudicial treatment and status. Such bias in favor of white men of means and their families can be seen in the Centennial displays themselves, which could be viewed as celebrations of middle-class mass consumption.4
Furthermore, in 1876 the country was dealing with the effects of an economic depression (the
Panic of 1873), as well as a series of political scandals embroiling President Ulysses Grant’s administration. The impeachment of President Andrew Johnson was still relatively fresh in national consciousness; in 1868, the House of Representative had leveled eleven articles of impeachment against the President (he ultimately was acquitted by one vote in the Senate).
Americans in the 1970s would be familiar with such turmoil: civil rights struggles, social unrest
4 The women’s rights movement made an appearance at the Centennial: denied an official spot in the agenda for July 4, 1876, Susan B. Anthony, along with four other women, approached the main stage during opening remarks and distributed copies of the Declaration of Rights for Women. Afterward, Anthony read the declaration outside to an assembled crowd. For more information, see Ida Husted Harper, The Life and Work of Susan B. Anthony, Including Public Addresses, Her Own Letters and Many from her Contemporaries During Fifty Years, Volume 1 (Indianapolis: Bowen-Merrill Company, 1899), 474-479. Social issues affecting the United States in 1876 discussed by Spillman, Nation and Commemoration, 37 and 40-45. Centennial exhibits’ applicability to middle-class culture discussed by Hepp, “Centennial Celebrations,” 522.
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related to a war, a floundering economy, as well as presidential scandals and impeachment proceedings.5
The Late 1960s: Growing Distrust of the Federal Government
When the ARBC was established in 1966, many of these issues were causing more and more
Americans to doubt their national government. The country was increasingly mired in the
Vietnam War, sparking protests – some of which were centered in and around Independence
Hall. The post-war economic boom was slowing, leading to income-driven social disparity.
President Johnson’s administration was struggling to achieve its domestic civil rights goals.6
With the United States unable to achieve equal rights and ensure democracy both at home and abroad, how was the ARBC to promote Bicentennial plans to glorify these ideals?
Carlisle H. Humelsine, president of the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, Chairman of the
National Trust, and the first ARBC Chairman (1967-1969), addressed these concerns in early press conferences. Echoing language used by President Johnson in relation to his domestic social goals, Humelsine noted that the Bicentennial would bridge pageantry and government responsibility, encouraging domestic growth and urban redevelopment as opposed to a straightforward celebration. The ARBC’s plans were not to focus heavily on the history of the
5 For further discussion of scandals and charges of corruption during Grant’s second term, see Robert W. Burg, “Scandal, Corruption,” in A Companion to the Reconstruction Presidents 1865- 1881, ed. Edward O. Frantz (West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons, 2014), 592-595, https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1002/9781118607879.ch29. Johnson’s impeachment discussed by Burg, “Scandal, Corruption,” 585-587. 6 For more details on protests at Independence Hall, see Mires, Independence Hall, 245. Loss of trust in the federal government in late 1960s discussed by Gordon, The Spirit of 1976, 21.
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Revolution, but rather attempt to enact the values of equality and representation through responsible social programming, funded by the federal government. Viewed through this lens, the ARBC’s Bicentennial park plan from 1972 can be seen as an effort to provide a tangible, socially-engaging benefit to each of the fifty states. The late development of the plan, and the restrictive cost of such a nationwide construction endeavor, however, limited the impact that the
ARBC was ultimately able to make on the final iteration of the Bicentennial celebration.7
Instead, the ARBC is mostly remembered as a relatively inept, underfunded body that was unable to accomplish much during its existence. Some viewed the ARBC as a partisan tool trying to apply a veneer of normative patriotic sentiment to a fracturing country, especially with regard to Nixon’s favored single-city international exposition idea – a costly scheme that privileged one city over others while attempting to promote confidence in Americans that the
United States still held world-class status. The Washington Post published a series of articles in mid-August 1972 that focused on the ARBC’s corruption and status as a political tool. Quoting a confidential letter, one article revealed ARBC Executive Director Jack I. LeVant’s thoughts on the Bicentennial: “the greatest opportunity Nixon, the [Republican] Party and the government has as a beacon of light for reunification and light within the nation and with the world.”8
7 For Humelsine’s vision for the Bicentennial, see Rymsza-Palowska, History Comes Alive, 43. 8 For the Bicentennial as a means to foster patriotic sentiment, see Rymsza-Palowska, History Comes Alive, 39-41; Nixon’s actions implying desire to use the Bicentennial for his own political purposes discussed by Rymsza-Palowska, History Comes Alive, 45-47. LeVant would resign as ARBC Executive Director on July 31, 1972; this and quote from Eugene L. Meyer, “Diluting the Spirit of ’76: Bicentennial Plans Avoid the Controversial,” The Washington Post, August 16, 1972, ProQuest Historical Newspapers.
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Others criticized how the ARBC linked business and commerce into the commemorative process. Such critiques derived from ARBC decisions related to product licensing and a perceived overproduction of commemorative items. The Bicentennial was viewed as the
“Buycentennial” – a money-making scheme that would inflate the pockets of businessmen at the expense of the masses. In true mass consumer-style, about 25,000 Bicentennial products were made for the celebration, from everyday items such as cups, plates and napkins in red-white-and- blue, to Minuteman vitamins and countless items marketed for the reasonable price of $17.76.9
Perhaps the ARBC’s biggest mistake was not fully understanding the social changes that were taking place in the late 1960s, especially how history was being interpreted at the time. With the rise of television and other mass media entertainment forms, history was becoming an increasingly personal endeavor, accessible at the movie theater and in the living room through programming and historical fiction. In the late 1960s, history was also being told from different viewpoints. A series of essays published in the American Historical Review challenged long- held popular myths about the Founding Fathers, addressing issues of wealth disparity as well as slave-holding and racism.10 One such book would affect how planning was approached for
Franklin Court: Code Number 72: Ben Franklin, Patriot or Spy? Published in 1972, Code
Number 72 questioned whether Benjamin Franklin was indeed the patriotic scientist and
9 For discussion of role business should play in the Bicentennial planning process, see Gordon, The Spirit of 1976, 21-22 and 24-26. Number of Bicentennial products and wide variety of items discussed by Gordon, The Spirit of 1976, 123-124. 10 Increasingly personal nature of historical interpretation discussed by Gordon, The Spirit of 1976, 22. Role of historical fiction, movies, and television programs discussed by Samuel, Remembering America, 76-77. For history being told from different viewpoints, see Samuel, Remembering America, 66-67.
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statesman as presented by the history books, or whether he was an opportunistic social climber who hedged his bets during the American Revolution through a clandestine relationship with the
British.11 Such revisionist approaches to history attempted to promote a social value to the field, with hope that by exposing “hidden” aspects of history, society could benefit.
With the public at large able to access a wide variety of media presenting diverse takes on history, the ARBC’s activities were viewed as narrowly, and non-inclusively focused. The joint resolution from July 4, 1966 that established the ARBC emphasized that an important factor of the Bicentennial was to celebrate “the attainment of equal and inalienable rights,” however the
ARBC’s actions only seemed to support and enhance the position of established, white businessmen and the Republican Party’s agenda. Out of touch with how Americans were viewing the celebration, Congress dissolved the ARBC and formed the ARBA in December
1973. With less time to act and more public scrutiny on its activities, the ARBA turned from the centralized, nationally-organized focus favored by the ARBC and instead encouraged more local planning and events. Federal funds were allocated to the states, municipalities, and tribal authorities; by July 1976, over twelve thousand communities would mark the Bicentennial in some way.12 Relegated to the role of event coordinator, the ARBA played a decreased role in the
Bicentennial. Instead, the federal mark on the Bicentennial would most visibly play out through the NPS and the projects it undertook for the Bicentennial.
11 For revisionist take on Franklin, see Cecil B. Currey, Code Number 72: Ben Franklin, Patriot or Spy? (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1972). 12 Importance of equal rights to the Bicentennial from Joint Resolution, Pub. L. No. 89-491, 80 Stat. 259 (1966). Decentralization of the ARBA discussed by Gordon, The Spirit of 1976, 114. Number of communities engaged in Bicentennial activities from Samuel, Remembering America, 85.
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Chapter 8: The Great Reconstruction Debate
NPS and the Bicentennial
For the three-year period from July 1, 1973 through June 30, 1976, NPS had a budget of $100 million to operate its Bicentennial development program. The purpose of this campaign was to enact tangible capital improvements to NPS-operated sites that would serve the public for years, as opposed to temporary added-value measures that would expire with the Bicentennial year itself. Within this three-year period, “there were some 200 ‘development packages’ covering nearly 1,000 components in the evolving Bicentennial program, involving history, archaeology, interpretive planning, preliminary design, master planning, environmental impact studies, project planning, construction, construction supervision, exhibit production, and so on.”1
The majority of this work took place within twenty-two officially designated Bicentennial areas, however the projects were not evenly distributed among those sites. In fact, about 70 percent of the total expenditures for construction was directed to five major sites: Colonial National
Historical Park in Virginia; the National Capital Parks, in Maryland, Virginia, and Washington,
DC; the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park, stretching 184 miles between
Cumberland, Maryland and Washington, DC; Fort Stanwix National Monument in New York; and INHP. Of these five major sites, INHP held further distinction: with a final cost of about
1 Bicentennial development plan budget and scope of work from Merrill J. Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty: A Report on the American Revolution Bicentennial Development Program of the National Park Service (Washington, DC: National Park Service, 1989), 2, http://npshistory.com/publications/nhl/theme-studies/landmarks-of-liberty.pdf.
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$6.8 million, INHP’s Franklin Court was the most expensive project undertaken by NPS for the
Bicentennial.2
The Franklin Court Project
NPS had been interested in the Franklin Court site at INHP for more than twenty years before it was fully realized for the Bicentennial. As noted in Chapter 5, the Franklin Court site was specifically included as one of the “must-have” areas in the 1948 enabling act that established
INHP. And, as noted in Chapter 2, research on the Franklin Court site began as early as 1953, when the first archaeological survey was conducted on Orianna Street. At that time, the entirety of Franklin’s former property was covered by buildings, with the exception of the street, limiting the area that could be excavated. Fortunately, the street ran directly through the footprint of
Franklin’s former home (see Figure 11 for the relation of Franklin’s house to the street and surrounding lots). Paul J. F. Schumacher, the archaeologist overseeing the dig, located fragments of the foundation, along with the basement floor and a rear privy.3
With such findings surfacing from a limited dig, hopes were high for what could be uncovered with an expanded area of excavation. Accordingly, in 1955 NPS began the slow process of acquiring and demolishing the buildings covering the site. In all, archaeological exploration continued for over a decade, with an intensive, four-year program planned out in 1959 under the
2 Details on distribution of work and expenditures from Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 3-4, final cost of Franklin Court from Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 83. 3 Limited boundaries of 1953 excavation and scope of findings discussed by Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 194-195.
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guidance of B. Bruce Powell, successor to Schumacher as archaeologist at INHP.4 While the physical remains were being surveyed, NPS historians at INHP carried out archival research, in pursuit of any details that could shed light as to the design of Franklin’s home.
Researching the House
Martin I. Yoelson carried out much of the early research on Franklin Court. Yoelson joined
INHP as a Junior Historian in 1951; by about 1965, his responsibilities within the park had increased such that he held the role of Chief of Visitor Services. In this position, Yoelson handled any necessary historic research, and managed all matters related to site interpretation. In order to gather as much information as possible about the Franklin Court site, Yoelson relied on the Franklin papers held by the American Philosophical Society, as well as the Franklin collection held by Yale University. The majority of this research was conducted from the mid-
1960s through 1970, and resulted in the preparation of several Historic Structure Reports.5
Some of the most valuable information was found in the correspondence shared between
Franklin and his wife, Deborah (see Chapter 2). The richness of detail provided in these letters was due to Franklin’s extended absence abroad as envoy to the British court, a role he held from
1764 through 1775. As construction on the home had begun in 1763, Franklin essentially left his wife in charge of construction for a house that he did not see in person until ten years after it had
4 Acquisition of property on Franklin Court site and archaeological planning discussed by Greiff, Independence, 195 and 197, respectively. 5 Yoelson’s tenure with INHP from George A. Palmer, “Interview with Martin I. Yoelson,” April 22, 1977: 1-7, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series I, Box 3, Folder 3; sources of Yoelson’s research from Palmer, “Interview with Yoelson,” 64.
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been completed. Exchanges between the two documented both architectural and interior features.6
Such information was supplemented by an insurance survey, conducted by the Philadelphia
Contributionship company in 1766 in preparation for policy issuance on the home. Policy number 1148 documented measurements, duly recording that the home was 34 feet square with three rooms to a floor; it also noted prominent features, such as a “Rich Chimney peice” [sic], with an eye to guiding replacement in the event of a fire. As the policy would be certain to record all unique items, the policy description was viewed as a reliable inventory of the house’s characteristic elements.7
In addition to the details gleaned from letters and the insurance survey, three sketches related to the home were found among the archives’ papers: one was a ground plan, sketched by Franklin’s brother-in-law in 1765; another was a floor plan, sketched on the back of a 1764 receipt; the last was a plan of the first floor, in Franklin’s own hand on the back of a letter (Figure 21). With orientation provided by the first floor plan, the floor plan from the receipt was recognizable as a sketch of the second floor.8 These details, along with the rich descriptions from the letters and the insurance plan, painted an enticing picture of Franklin’s house. But, there were still some unknowns; a description of a fireplace and a window were great to have, but what was the exact
6 Timeline of Franklin’s stay abroad discussed by John Platt, Franklin’s House (Philadelphia: National Park Service, 1969), 7-12, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603916. For examples of details shared between Franklin and his wife, see Platt, Franklin’s House, 29-38. 7 Insurance policy discussed by Platt, Franklin’s House, 43-44. 8 Sketches of the Franklin property discussed by Greiff, Independence, 197-198.
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relationship between the two? What the INHP historians were lacking was an actual image of the house as constructed that could elucidate such matters.
While conducting research, Yoelson heard a rumor that such an image existed. Several sources noted that an engraving of Franklin’s house had been made around 1787 by a certain John
Thackara, and that either an illustration or a photograph might exist of that engraving. The trail led to an antiques dealer, Carl Williams. In a 1961 letter to INHP, Williams noted that he had purchased a quantity of Thackara works from the estate of a family member in 1949. Among the pieces was “Franklin’s house off High Street,” which he noted was “done in fine detail.”
Williams claimed to have sold the original, but believed that he still had a photograph with his things in storage. The only catch was that due to “a rather stiff” outstanding bill with the storage company, he was unable to access the photograph; Williams closed his letter by noting that, “if circumstances were different with me, I would be glad to help gratis; however, in any event, I should be glad to see you anytime at this address [provided in his letter above] in New York.”9
If the closing sentiment seems to be an invitation for financial compensation, apparently it was, and a baseless one at that. No photograph would be produced, but the hopes for some copy of the Thackara image burned for years afterward, and factored in the debate over reconstruction that would be waged from about 1968 through 1970. In fact, even after a decision was made in
9 For more on the search for the image of Franklin’s house, see Palmer, “Interview with Yoelson,” 68; refer also to Greiff, Independence, 198. Quotes from Williams letter from Carl Williams, Letter to Dennis C. Kurjack, November 8, 1961, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3.
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1970 about how to proceed with the Franklin house, hope in the existence of a Thackara copy was still high enough that in 1972 pieces appeared in both Antiques Magazine and The New York
Times. If anyone could provide NPS with the image, he or she would be given a trip to
Philadelphia, a tour of INHP, and Franklin memorabilia.10
Figure 21: Sketch of first floor of Franklin’s house, found on the back of a letter in the American Philosophical Society Library’s Franklin Papers collection. Since the handwriting above the plan is Franklin’s, it was strongly believed that the drawing was also in his own hand. Sketch obtained from Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler, An Architectural Summary of Franklin Court and Benjamin Franklin’s House, (National Park Service, 1969), 7, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603544.
10 Baselessness of claim from Palmer, “Interview with Yoelson,” 68. Copy of article for Antiques Magazine by Robert D. Crompton from Harry R. Belinger, Letter to James R. Sullivan, February 16, 1972, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 7. Newspaper article contains information on the reward for providing an image of the Thackara engraving, from same collection; see Donald Janson, “Missing Painting Blocks Franklin House Project,” The New York Times, October 25, 1972, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 7.
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How to Proceed?
In the absence of a concrete image of the house as constructed, NPS debated internally how to proceed with any project at Franklin Court. With the Bicentennial approaching, debate on the subject swirled from 1968 to 1970. That NPS make the right decision was crucial: in preparation for the Bicentennial, the interpretive themes for INHP were being recast. As noted in the 1970
Master Plan Report, any visitor to INHP should be impressed by three themes: “the Revolution and its significance in world history; a second devoted to the life and ideas of Benjamin Franklin; the third covering the multi-faceted life of Philadelphia as America’s first metropolis and capital.”11
Franklin was being promoted from a supporting character in the Revolution and early Republic narratives, and was receiving his own interpretive program. The Master Plan elaborated on this upgrade: “Nowhere in Philadelphia, nowhere in the United States is there a memorial to
Benjamin Franklin commensurate with his stature as America’s first citizen-of-the-world. As custodian of the site of his mansion house, the Service [NPS] has the best opportunity to fill this need.”12 In keeping with preservation projects of the nineteenth century, in which sites associated with Revolutionary figures were accorded special significance, so too would the site of Franklin’s former home. Any place could have a Franklin statue or commemorative garden, but only Philadelphia could offer the very site where Franklin once lived and worked.
11 Reshaping of interpretive themes discussed by Greiff, Independence, 200. Quote outlining themes from “Independence National Historical Park: A Master Plan Report,” National Park Service, July 1970: 43, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/603542. 12 “INHP: A Master Plan Report,” 48.
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Reconstruction Precedents
But how to best accomplish this? Colonial Williamsburg set a sizable precedent for reconstructing long-lost buildings, as it had reconstructed 341 buildings on their former sites (see
Chapter 4). Certainly, if this many could be rebuilt, Franklin’s home could follow suit. And while Colonial Williamsburg was not an NPS project, there was a notable case with which NPS was involved, and which would influence later NPS practice: the reconstruction of Washington’s birthplace, Wakefield, which had been lost to fire in 1779.13
Following on the model of Ann Pamela Cunningham’s Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association, the largely female and well-to-do Wakefield National Memorial Association (WNMA) was the main body responsible for moving along with the reconstruction project. Formed in 1924, the WNMA leveraged its members’ political and social connections to gain the backing of both Congress and the preservation-minded (and deep-pocketed) Rockefeller, Jr. Pursuant to legislation, the federal government would provide funding to the WNMA to accurately reconstruct the house in
Virginia; upon completion of the “Memorial House,” the building and all associated lands were to “be conveyed to the United States as a gift for administration, protection, and maintenance.”14
13 Loss of Washington’s home by fire from Seth C. Bruggeman, “National Park Service, George Washington Birthplace National Monument, Administrative History 1930-2000,” 2006: 11, https://www.nps.gov/gewa/learn/management/upload/George%20Washington%20Birthplace%2 0Administrative%20History.pdf. 14 Formation of WNMA and its activities from Bruggeman, “George Washington Birthplace National Monument,” 18-23; quote from legislation from Bruggeman, “George Washington Birthplace National Monument,” 23.
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So, while the reconstructed home was to come under NPS management upon completion, NPS was somewhat removed from the actual planning and construction. Begun in summer 1930, the house was completed within a year; WNMA transferred the deed for the property to NPS on June
22, 1931. Unknown to NPS at the time was that as early as September 1930, WNMA staff were aware of another mound, about a hundred feet south of where Washington’s was to be reconstructed. This area was excavated, and foundations for a structure termed “Building X” were uncovered. As the foundations were larger than the presumed dimensions of the birth house, the area was given no further consideration.15
However, as early as 1932, murmurings among those involved on the WNMA project team began to spread doubt about the true nature of Building X. Was it an outbuilding, or was it the true site of the house? Further significant action did not take place until after passage of the
1935 Historic Sites Act, which made historical and archaeological documentation a core NPS activity. Accordingly, in March 1936 archaeological work began on the birth home property.
The work confirmed the worst case scenario: “Building X, rather than the foundation sealed beneath the Memorial House, was the true Wakefield.”16
This finding obviously posed a large problem for NPS, if indeed it was interpreting the home where Washington was born at the wrong site. More research followed, as NPS needed to be
15 1931 completion of work discussed by Bruggeman, “George Washington Birthplace National Monument,” 25; transfer of property from page 33, and discovery of Building X from pages 42- 43. 16 Results of 1936 excavation discussed by Bruggeman, “George Washington Birthplace National Monument,” 47.
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certain. As late as October 1941, the question was still being investigated – and historian David
Rodnick deemed Building X still to be the proper site. Debate raged within NPS – should it tear down the house, or honor the work performed by the well-meaning WNMA as a memorial, and not as an accurate reconstruction? On paper, NPS remained ambivalent, and signage at the site during the 1940s and 1950s was vaguely-worded. It would not be until 1971 that a development concept plan for the site proposed the “positive interpretation of ‘Building X’ as the birth site.”17
The 1968 Guidelines for Reconstructions
So as to possibly avoid such a circumstance from occurring with any other NPS-operated property, in 1937 NPS established administrative policies to guide decision-making with respect to restoration and reconstruction. The version of these policies that governed the choices made for the Franklin Court project were promulgated in September 1968. The section on reconstructions noted that:
Reconstruction should be authorized only when the following conditions are met: (a) All of almost all traces of a structure have disappeared and its recreation is essential for public understanding and appreciation of the historical associations for which the park was established. (b) Sufficient historical, archaeological, and architectural data exist to permit an accurate reproduction. (c) The structure can be erected on the original site or in a setting appropriate to the significance of the area, as in a pioneer community or living farm, where exact site of structures may not be identifiable through research.18
17 Rodnick’s involvement and findings from Bruggeman, “George Washington Birthplace National Monument,” 51-52; NPS debate from page 55; ambivalence and signage from 57-61; 1971 development concept plan discussed on pages 170-171. 18 Implementation of policies in 1937 discussed by Greiff, Independence, 203. Reconstruction guidelines from National Park Service, “Administrative Policies for Historical Areas of the National Park System,” September 1968: 9, https://www.nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/admin_policies/policy1-part1.htm.
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Debate: 1968-1970
These points were argued both ways on the debate as to whether Franklin’s house should be reconstructed, or if a different form of interpretation should be undertaken. An internal NPS memorandum from Alan Kent, Acting Chief, Division of Planning and Interpretation, dated
February 1968 (earlier than the revised policies), took a stance against reconstruction. Kent favored an archaeological treatment only, “rather than a reconstruction and refurnishing…I believe an item like the $50,000 Franklin desk [one of the original Franklin artifacts held by
NPS] would be lost within a reconstruction, whereas it could be highlighted in a visitor facility adjoining the site.” He did not count out reconstruction forever, though. Kent felt that “if we goof with this approach, we can always reconstruct. If we reconstruct, the opportunity to use the archaeological interpretive approach is lost forever.”19
This sentiment would be felt by others within NPS over the course of the planning process. Even if the Thackara image could not be found in time for the Bicentennial, it may turn up at some point. If NPS presented the public with a reconstruction based on all the data it had, and the house turned out to be inaccurate when compared to any image obtained in the years to come, would it not be in a similar situation as that experienced at Wakefield? Instead of putting resources behind a reconstruction, would it not be better to retain that option for a future date when NPS could be completely confident in the accuracy of the home?
19 Alan E. Kent, Memorandum to Chief, Office of Resource Planning, February 5, 1968, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3.
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On the other hand, proponents for reconstruction felt that NPS could be completely confident in the accuracy of a reconstruction. In a memorandum from September 1968, John L. Cotter, Chief of Archaeological Research, wrote to NPS Director George B. Hartzog, Jr. on his feelings. In favor of reconstruction, Cotter argued that “the house that Franklin built…remains the unique and distinctive identifier of his personality.” If INHP’s interpretive themes were to include
Franklin, the man, what better way to present him than through the house that he painstakingly and lovingly conceived? Cotter believed that the research conducted would provide “AMPLE information…to make a reconstruction of the house that Franklin himself…could walk in and feel at home.”20
To settle the matter, in March 1969 a group was formed to consider the available information and make a recommendation. This reconstruction committee comprised John L. Cotter, Chief of
Archaeological Research; John Platt, INHP Historian; and Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler, an
INHP architect from the Division of Historic Architecture. By July, the three could not reach a consensus. Cotter held firm in support of reconstruction; “I believe that evidence is sufficient to reconstruct the Franklin House,” he noted in a memorandum to INHP Superintendent Chester
Brooks.21
20 John L. Cotter, Memorandum to George B. Hartzog, Jr., Director, September 11, 1968, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. 21 Members of committee from Ernest Allen Connally, Memorandum to Ronald F. Lee, Special Assistant to the Director, March 25, 1969, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. Cotter’s quote from John L. Cotter, Memorandum to Chester Brooks, Superintendent, INHP, July 14, 1969, Independence National Historical Park Archives,
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Platt agreed with Cotter, in support of reconstruction. Batcheler, on the other hand, felt that she could not support such a plan. In order to better argue her point against reconstruction, in
September 1969 she presented “An Architectural Summary of Franklin Court and Benjamin
Franklin’s Home.” Instead of outlining what was known, Batcheler instead focused on what was not known, and the many choices that would need to be made in order to execute the reconstruction. For example, Batcheler focused on the insurance survey’s description of the chimney. “The surveyor’s mention of ‘A Rich Chimney peice [sic]’ indicates the relative position of the Franklin House ‘Old Dining Room’ in the rank of elegance of Philadelphia architecture. But such a description falls far short of indicating the very form of the architectural element.” Accompanied by annotated drawings to show what was and what was not known,
Batcheler thus assigned the chimney to the category of the “unknown.” Going through each element, Batcheler found that many details would be left to choice. She concluded in her report that “in facing the unknowns and what would be called for if a reconstruction were attempted, I am overwhelmed with the conjectural decisions which would have to be made by the architect.”22
“…insufficient evidence has survived…”
A decision was made in October 1969 by the Special Committee for Historic Preservation
Regarding Franklin Court, the body which had initially formed the committee of Cotter, Platt,
Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. 22 Platt’s alignment with Cotter from Greiff, Independence, 202. Quotes from Batcheler’s report; see Batcheler, An Architectural Summary of Franklin Court, 1-2.
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and Batcheler. Finding against Criterion (b) from the guidelines on reconstruction – that sufficient historical, archaeological, and architectural data exist to permit an accurate reproduction – the Special Committee sided with Batcheler’s recommendation. The Special
Committee accordingly submitted a memorandum to the NPS Director, noting that “the site of
Benjamin Franklin’s House ranks in the first order of historical significance and it must be treated with the most scrupulous care…your Committee unanimously concludes that insufficient evidence has survived to permit a reconstruction of Benjamin Franklin’s House that would meet
National Park Service standards of accuracy and historical fidelity.” The Special Committee’s memorandum also noted that Batcheler had “presented an original and very promising preliminary study of Franklin Court, omitting reconstruction of Benjamin Franklin’s house, which appeared to possess unusual historical and interpretive merit.”23 It may have been this very recommendation that leant the Special Committee more confidence in its decision.
As an alternate to reconstruction, Batcheler suggested incorporating “a presentation of all of
Franklin’s enlightened life through other media,” as well as the Market Street row houses that
Franklin operated as rental properties. “And on the house site itself,” she continued, “could be presented a model of our conjectural idea of the original Franklin Court, surrounded with an exhibit of artifacts and documentation pertaining to the Court and house, and shafts which would allow the visitor to look down at the few intelligible archaeological survivals.”24
23 Special Committee on Historic Preservation, Memorandum to Director, November 4, 1969, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. 24 Batcheler, An Architectural Summary of Franklin Court, 4.
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The Special Committee’s finding was upheld in January 1970 by Ernest Allen Connally, Chief of the Office of Archaeology and Historic Preservation. Connally also noted his interest in
Batcheler further developing her ideas for an alternative development concept. During a
February meeting with Batcheler, Connally established the direction of the interpretive approach that would be used for Franklin Court:
Our premises are as follows: 1. Restoration of the street fronts and backs of the five Market Street Houses. 2. Adaptive restoration of their interiors, preserving the original party walls and the arched passage. 3. Construction of new visitor facilities to the rear of the Market Street Houses, planned so as not to damage archaeological remains nor impinge upon Franklin’s garden. 4. Construction of an interpretive pavilion above the remains of the Franklin House, leaving portions open to view. 5. Reconstruction of brick garden walls, with grass, trees, and flowering shrubs (including plane trees and a mulberry, as referred to in the Franklin correspondence), according to the historic spatial arrangement of the site.25
Working from these points, Batcheler prepared drawings showing how the Market Street row houses could be utilized in tandem with multi-media interpretation (Figure 22). A glass pavilion rose over the house’s archaeological remains (Figure 23). With the interpretive direction defined and a possible design sketched out as a starting point, the NPS team at INHP was ready to
25 Connally’s agreement with not proceeding with reconstruction from Ernest Allen Connally, Memorandum to Associate Director, Professional Services, January 20, 1970, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 19. Outline for development of site from a similar memorandum, dated February 9, 1970, in the same archival collection: Ernest Allen Connally, Memorandum to Director, through Associate Director, Professional Services, February 9, 1970, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936- 2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 19.
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address the next questions: what about Franklin was important to include in the site’s interpretation, and who would be working on the project?
Figure 22: Batcheler’s development concepts for Franklin Court, in lieu of reconstruction, 1970; drawing from Greiff, Independence, 205.
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Figure 23: Batcheler’s drawings showing proposed interpretive pavilion at Franklin Court, 1970. Her text (under “Franklin House Interpretive Pavilion”) indicates that the pavilion would “tell of Franklin’s family life…through exhibits of correspondence between Debbie and Benjamin F.…” In the final design, such letters were used as a narrative tool. Drawing from Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler, “Architectural Development Proposal, Franklin Court,” February 1970, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 19.
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Chapter 9: Envisioning Franklin Court
Staffing the Project
As noted in Chapter 8, NPS was faced with a significant number of projects to execute in time for the Bicentennial – while the work at INHP was important, it was not the only NPS property undergoing development. Resource allocation was one of the main considerations for NPS in the years prior to the Bicentennial. Normal NPS operations followed a three-year budget and construction cycle, meaning that for any project entailing a new build, the whole process – from preliminary design through final delivery – would span three fiscal years. In most cases, however, prior to this process the NPS regional office in charge of the project would have already performed historical and archaeological research and prepared a master plan to ensure project feasibility. So, while Congress’s allocation of Bicentennial funds followed the general three-fiscal-year pattern for construction, it did not factor typical preparatory work into the timeline.26
Compounding the issue were two factors: a cap set on the number of employees that federal agencies could retain on a full-time basis, and the deadline imposed by NPS Director Ronald H.
Walker – for “good psychological reasons…all work had to be completed by December 1975.”
Faced with having to achieve in about two-and-a-half years what would usually take four, the
26 For more on typical budget/construction cycle, see Merrill J. Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty: A Report on the American Revolution Bicentennial Development Program of the National Park Service (Washington, DC: National Park Service, 1989), 5, http://npshistory.com/publications/nhl/theme-studies/landmarks-of-liberty.pdf.
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“prevailing mood [within NPS] ranged from skepticism to downright pessimism.” However,
“most jobs were completed by the end of 1975 or very early in 1976.”27
With a shortage of personnel, the impossible was made possible through creative approaches to staffing, such as internal reassignments based on the needs of various parks and hiring “less- than-full-time” or “career seasonal” employees. Another method was to simply engage third- parties – architectural and engineering firms – as contractors. This latter approach was the tactic chosen for the Franklin Court project, as outlined in a planning and design directive from
October 1971.28
Shortly thereafter, NPS provided Philadelphia-area architecture firms with an outline about the project, including the January 1970 interpretive approach decided upon by Ernest Allen
Connally, Chief of the Office of Archaeology and Historic Preservation (see Chapter 8). All but one of the firms proposed concepts with a large structure occupying the court. The other firm –
Venturi and Rauch – focused instead on the larger cultural context that the Franklin Court site could provide. Instead of merely an area that could play host to a building, Venturi and Rauch recognized that the space held a greater interpretive promise. As this was more in line with what
NPS envisioned, Lee Nelson and Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler from the INHP Division of
27 Cap on employees and quotes from Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 7 and 5, respectively.
28 Staffing work-arounds from Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 7. Use of outside firms on the Franklin Court project discussed by Hobart G. Cawood, “Design Directive, Development of Franklin Court,” October 26, 1971, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.83, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
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Historic Architecture endorsed Venturi and Rauch, and NPS decision-makers at the Denver
Service Center duly selected the firm.29
Venturi and Rauch
Philadelphia-born Robert Venturi (1925-2018) graduated in 1950 with a Master of Fine Arts from Princeton University’s School of Architecture. After working in the offices of Eero
Saarinen and Louis I. Kahn (whom Venturi assisted at the University of Pennsylvania), Venturi was awarded the Rome Prize Fellowship to the American Academy in Rome in 1954 (where his exposure to ruins foreshadowed the Franklin Court project). By 1957, Venturi had established his independent practice, and in 1960, formed a partnership with William Short. John Rauch joined Venturi and Short in 1961; upon Short’s resignation in 1964, Rauch was elevated to partner and the firm was renamed Venturi and Rauch.30
A key element to Venturi and Rauch’s success was Denise Lakofski Scott Brown. Born in
Zambia, Scott Brown attended university in Johannesburg, South Africa (1948-1952), studied at the Architectural Association in London, United Kingdom (1955), and obtained Master’s degrees in both city planning and architecture from the University of Pennsylvania (1960 and 1965,
29 Some other firms invited to propose designs included Mitchell & Giurgola; Geddes, Brecher, Quallis and Cunningham; Bower and Fradley; Louis Sauer Associates, and Dickey, Weissman, Chandler and Hoff. Invited firms and proposal process discussed by Allen, “Learning from Franklin Court,” 76. Recommendation by Nelson and Batcheler discussed by Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 218. 30 Biographical details from Kersten Geers, Jelena Pancevac, and Andrea Zanderigo, eds., The Difficult Whole: A Reference Book on Robert Venturi, John Rauch and Denise Scott Brown (Zurich, Switzerland: Park Books, 2016), 21; details also from biography page of Venturi Scott Brown website, http://venturiscottbrown.org/bios/.
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respectively). Scott Brown and Venturi were married in 1967; by 1969, Scott Brown had joined the firm as the partner in charge of planning. Venturi and Rauch changed its name to Venturi,
Rauch and Scott Brown in 1980; after Rauch’s resignation in 1989, the firm changed its name to
Venturi, Scott Brown and Associates. 31
At the time the firm was selected for the Franklin Court project in 1972, Venturi and Rauch “was not then one of [Philadelphia’s] larger firms, but its principal, Robert Venturi, had a well- established national reputation as an innovative and thoughtful designer.”32 This quality is likely what led the firm to be more sensitive to the description NPS provided regarding its aims for
Franklin Court. Unlike other Bicentennial projects, Franklin Court’s success was going to depend more on creating a sense of place than on providing visitors with an authentic building.
What exactly would that sense of place entail? As outlined in February 1970 by Connally, the
Chief of the Office of Archaeology and Historic Preservation, several points were to be emphasized in creating Franklin Court, including utilizing the Market Street row houses, recreating the garden space, and the construction of some type of interpretive pavilion above the remains of Franklin’s house, which were to remain viewable. Equally as important as the inclusion of these points was the project’s ability to satisfy the second theme of INHP’s 1970 master plan: “the life and ideas of Benjamin Franklin.”
31 Ibid. 32 Greiff, Independence, 218-219.
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The Franklin Scholars
As early as August 1970, internal documentation refers to the need to present an image of
Franklin the man – not the myth. In the absence of a physical structure, NPS would not be offering the public a house, but rather Franklin himself. In order to best ensure that all Franklin
Court team members were as well-informed about Franklin and his accomplishments as possible,
INHP hosted what was referred to as the “Franklin Scholars Meeting” in June 1972.
Coordinated with Dr. Whitfield J. Bell, Jr. from the American Philosophical Society, the collected group of scholars was tasked with “present[ing] Benjamin Franklin on a human level” through guided discussion on “his legacies – the written word, the scientific experiment, the negative and positive reflections of his person.”33
Negative perceptions of Franklin’s personality were a main concern for the INHP team, as at the time it was felt that “the world figure of Franklin is now most known in caricature.”34 One of the main drivers of Franklin in caricature may very well have been the musical 1776, which ran as a
Broadway production for over 1,200 performances from 1969 through 1972; the film adaptation premiered in theaters in November 1972.35 Depicting the events surrounding the drafting and
33 Focus on Franklin the man discussed by Alan E. Kent, “Interpretation at Independence,” August 21, 1970, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.83, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania. Quotes on mandate for the Franklin Scholars from Lee H. Nelson and Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler, Memorandum to Superintendent Cawood, February 3, 1972, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 7. 34 Nelson and Batcheler, Memorandum to Supterintendent Cawood. 35 1776 ran for 1,217 performances, placing it eighty-fifth among all Broadway shows that have run 1,000 or more performances as of May 5, 2019; from http://www.playbill.com/article/long- runs-on-broadway-com-109864. Popularity of 1776 discussed by Lawrence R. Samuel, Remembering America: How We Have Told Our Past (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 77.
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adoption of the Declaration of Independence, 1776 transformed the Founding Fathers from history subject to entertainment. Franklin was depicted as frequently napping during meetings of the Second Continental Congress and delivering witticisms in the moments when he was awake.36 While the real Franklin was clever and likely quick with a comment, and likely did nap, the fact that the audience walked away with this image was of concern to NPS. Another source of Franklin information that the INHP team might have wanted to mitigate: Cecil B.
Currey’s Code Number 72: Ben Franklin, Patriot or Spy?, which presented an alternative view to the commonly promoted vision of Franklin as the quintessential American patriot (see Chapter
7).
Another concern broached during the “Franklin Scholars Meeting” was that when people thought of Franklin, “the first question is always, always, was he really a dirty old man?” Accordingly,
Claude Lopez of Yale University suggested that a focus for interpretation should be Franklin the
Family Man, documenting his relationship with Deborah, his wife in Philadelphia, and the breakdown of his relationship with his son, who served as the Royal Governor of New Jersey
(and sided with the British).37
36 After months of research on Franklin, the author watched the film version of 1776 and felt that (not surprisingly) there was a decided lean toward entertainment value as opposed to a straightforward historically accurate depiction of Franklin and the other Founding Fathers. In a review of the Broadway show from March 17, 1969 (after opening day), Clive Barnes mentioned “the avuncular Franklin, full of aphorisms,” noting that his “humor and good nature are a constant delight.” While a positive review, it does not reflect a serious representation of the Founding Father; from Clive Barnes, “Theater: Spirited ‘1776’,” The New York Times, March 17, 1969, ProQuest Historical Newspapers. 37 During an interview in 1977, Martin Yoelson, Chief of Interpretation at INHP, recounted that when training the guides for Franklin Court, they were prepared to face questions related to “Franklin never lov[ing] his wife Deborah and just lov[ing] other women.” From George A. Palmer, Interview with Martin I. Yoelson, April 22, 1977, Independence National Historical Park
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Franklin’s humor was also addressed by Dr. Bell, with the concern that “you don’t want to present Franklin as a kind of low character of comedy…but most of his memorable humorous remarks have a serious purpose.” Other points of discussion revolved around “Franklin the
Printer, Franklin the Scientist, Franklin the Politician, [and] Franklin the Sage,” and how best to utilize multi-media as interpretive avenues to showcase all Franklin’s facets. “Franklin himself was not compartmentalized. He wasn’t a family man on Friday night and a diplomat on
Saturday morning and so on…he was all of these things at all times…” The goal was to take
Franklin off the bookshelf and make him human and approachable, yet worthy of respect.38
On hand from Venturi and Rauch were Robert Venturi and John Rauch themselves, along with project architect David Vaughn. Venturi, in talking to the collected group of experts and INHP team members, noted that in addition to a sense of the man, “the sense of place is important. The context is very different now. There are great big buildings surrounding this place. On the other hand, there is, even when you’re there now you do get this sense of its being as it must have been then, a great, somewhat garden, green retreat in the middle of a bustling urban area. In a way more bustling than it is now.”39 The use of space would be important to the successful execution of the project; the visitor needed to walk away with some greater understanding of Franklin and his time in Philadelphia through the relationships expressed in the court.
Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. Franklin as a “dirty old man” and focus on relationships with family from Franklin Scholars Meeting, Draft No. 2: 7-8, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Interpretation and Visitor Services Records, 1852-2011, Catalog #: 74045, Series VII, Box 148, Folder 3. 38 Quotes on Franklin’s humor, the many Franklins, and multifaceted man from Franklin Scholars Meeting, 14, 29, and 7, respectively. 39 Ibid., 42.
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Origin of the Ghost Structure
Multi-media being outside its realm of expertise, Venturi and Rauch ultimately delegated interpretation of the many Franklins to a media consulting firm, deMartin-Marona &
Associates.40 It was that sense of place – the green retreat in the midst of bustling urban life – that was to be addressed by Venturi and Rauch. In 1972, the site that the firm had to interpret was overrun by vegetation (Figure 24). How did the main structure in Franklin Court – identifying the location of Franklin’s house – go from Batcheler’s 1970 glass pavilion to the final ghost structure? A major factor to influence the final design was the suggestion from Denise
Scott Brown to place the museum and multi-media elements underground, freeing up the entire space of the court.41 With regard to the ghost structure itself, a review of Venturi’s notes, and recollections of those involved in the process shed light on the iterative process.
One may think that the logical starting point would be Venturi himself. Accordingly, George A.
Palmer, who conducted an oral history project on NPS’s Bicentennial preparations from 1976 to
1978, sent Venturi a letter in October 1978 asking about the origin of the idea. “At your convenience,” Palmer wrote, “would you please give me a written statement on how you arrived
40 Details on deMartin-Marona & Associates’ interpretive plan proposal from a report on interpretive elements presented in September 1973, from deMarin-Marona & Associates and Venturi and Rauch, Franklin Court Interpretive Elements, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Interpretation and Visitor Services Records, 1852-2011, Catalog #: 74045, Series VII, Box 147, Folder 18. It was these interpretive elements that formed the focus of Allen’s critique in his thesis, “Learning from Franklin Court”; see Chapters 4 and 5, from pages 94 through 182. 41 Scott Brown’s suggestion from Greiff, Independence, 221.
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at the three dimensional concept for the frame which has received such favorable comment with the National Park Service and from professionals outside.”42
Figure 24: View of the Franklin Court site, looking roughly northeast. The shed-like structure to the right of the image covers the archaeological ruins of Franklin’s house. After the Orianna Street structures were demolished, the court was once again an inner-block oasis removed from the city beyond. This photograph was originally sent to David Vaughn at Venturi and Rauch by Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler in July 1972, so the image was likely taken that year or within the years immediately preceding. Part of Franklin Court Site Photographs, July 14, 1972, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.75, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
42 George A. Palmer, Letter to Robert Venturi, October 20, 1978, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3.
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In response, Venturi noted that “I often remember vividly the moment of the inception of a design and the associations which helped form it. In this case, I do not remember how we came to this approach to the design and I am sorry that I have no vivid anecdote to connect with it. I do know that whenever we presented the idea it was readily accepted, and we had to present it to a number of agencies with a variety of kinds of people in them. It was gratifying that it was agreeable from the beginning because that [is] not so often the case.”43
In contrast to Venturi’s lack of recollection little more than two years after the Bicentennial was the account offered in 1982 by John L. Cotter, Chief of Archaeological Research at INHP during the Bicentennial. Writing in March 1982 to a colleague, Cotter affirmed that the seed of inspiration came from a 1970 photograph of an archaeological site in Wellfleet (Cape Cod),
Massachusetts. In trying to give perspective on how a tavern may have looked on the site, Dr.
James Deetz, the archaeologist at Wellfleet, had drawn an outline of the building on the photograph. Cotter displayed this photograph during a meeting that INHP team members held with Venturi “concerning schemes to interpret Franklin’s house in the absence of a reconstruction.” Regarding the photograph, Cotter noted that Venturi mentioned that “doing in steel framing what Deetz did in white ink was ‘Interesting – has possibilities.’”44
43 Robert Venturi, Letter to George A. Palmer, December 1, 1978, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3. 44 John L. Cotter, Letter to Bob Craig, March 29, 1982, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Constance M. Greiff Administrative History Project Working Files, 1939-1988, Catalog #: 57627, Series II, Box 3, Folder 3.
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A review of Dr. Deetz’s work reveals an article from the August-September 1971 issue of
Natural History magazine. Entitled “Wellfleet Tavern,” the article includes what is most likely referenced photograph (Figure 25). While Cotter does not pinpoint an exact date for the meeting in his 1982 letter, a review of Venturi’s notes from early 1972 reveal the notation of “Cape Cod
– Wellfleet Tavern w/ frame” on a page outlining points from a meeting with Barbara Liggett, who was in charge of the archaeology on site in the early 1970s. Following that notation is a take-away from speaking with “Barbara: must show the ruins: after all this work.” Other notes in the same file, dating from an April 1972 meeting, show that Venturi was focusing on the “idea of a ghost house over ruins – abstract representation.”45
Building off the idea of an outline, with emphasis on displaying the archaeological ruins as clearly as possible, Venturi moved ahead with framing – literally – the sense of place of Franklin
Court. In the summer months of 1972, a concrete idea had taken shape, and Venturi and Rauch presented its concept to INHP in July in the form of a full-scale model (Figures 26 and 27). The plan was largely greeted with approval, aided by Connally’s support. The Chief of the Office of
Archaeology and Historic Preservation put the issue in terms NPS executives could understand:
“other giants of the era had their monuments – Jefferson at Monticello, Washington at Mount
Vernon. Although there could be no such great restored house to commemorate Franklin, he deserved a memorial of as high a quality.”46
45 Notes from various meetings in 1972 held between Venturi and Rauch and INHP staff, from Miscellaneous Meeting Notes, 1972, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.44, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania. 46 Greiff, Independence, 223.
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Figure 25: Most likely, this is the sketched-over image of the Wellfleet Tavern that Cotter mentioned having shown to Venturi when discussing possible design ideas; image from Eric Ekholm and James Deetz, as it appeared in “Wellfleet Tavern,” Natural History 80, no. 7 (August-September 1971): 52-53.
Venturi continued refining his concept through 1973. Later adjustments including the removal of one of the frame structures (the original three were reduced to two, representing Franklin’s home and a print shop built in 1787 for Franklin’s grandson, Benjamin Franklin Bache). Also,
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the way in which the visitor was to interact with the archaeological ruins was changed. The concept as originally presented had visitors viewing the ruins from a suspended catwalk. This would later be adjusted to the covered viewports as seen in the final version of Franklin Court
(see Figure 3).
Figure 26: Venturi and Rauch presented this model to INHP staff in the summer of 1972. The Market Street row houses are to the bottom of the image; the Orianna Street entrance to the site is near the upper left, beyond the ghost structure. Photograph of Franklin Court Model, 1972, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
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Figure 27: Alternate view of Venturi and Rauch’s 1972 model. The two frame structures to the right of the image represent a print shop and a stable. In subsequent revisions to the plan, the stable would be eliminated. In this early rendition, the archaeological ruins are exposed, and the visitor views them from a catwalk running across the open pit. Photograph of Franklin Court Model, 1972, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
Opening to the Public
NPS held “A Franklin Celebration” on April 20, 1976 in honor of the Franklin Court’s opening and dedication. Largely, the site was viewed positively by both critics and the public, meeting almost universal acclaim. Douglas J. Keating, staff writer for The Philadelphia Inquirer, noted that “one can’t help feeling that Benjamin Franklin would be pleased with what the Federal government has wrought in his memory.” Since the public, used to traditional house museums, would likely expect to see Franklin’s reconstructed home, Keating advised that this was not the case, “and although it has not been reconstructed, the Park Service takes us back to the 18th century with one of the more imaginative devices of the Franklin Court project.” Similarly,
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covering Philadelphia’s Bicentennial attractions for The Washington Post, Morris D. Rosenberg noted that Franklin Court was “imaginative and quietly impressive.”47
NPS had placed a significant amount of money – $6.8 million – into the development and execution of Franklin Court (see Chapter 8). Its hopes in the popularity of the site were not misplaced. Visitation numbers at Franklin Court were high, third only to Independence Hall itself and the Liberty Bell. Franklin Court maintained its position as third-most visited site within INHP years after the Bicentennial.48
47 Date of Franklin Court’s opening celebration from “A Franklin Celebration” invitation, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler Personal Papers Collection, 1953-2000, Catalog #: INDE 104178, Series I, Subseries A, Box 1, Folder 8. Quotes about Franklin Court from Douglas J. Keating, “Franklin Museum: A cultural Disneyland,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, April 16, 1976, 1-B; also from Morris D. Rosenberg, “‘America’s Most Historic Mile…’” The Washington Post, May 2, 1976, H3. 48 For more information on visitor numbers, see Greiff, Independence, 226-227.
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Chapter 10: Contemporary Comparison and Views on Franklin Court
The Graff House Project
In stark counterpoint to the approach taken at Franklin Court – not to reconstruct – was INHP’s
Graff House, the home on the corner of Seventh and Market Streets where Thomas Jefferson lodged when drafting the Declaration of Independence. On paper, these two Bicentennial projects had much in common: both were long-demolished structures that had housed Founding
Fathers in Philadelphia in 1776. However, several factors differentiated the two sites, the chief of which was the level of priority assigned to each within INHP during the years leading up to the Bicentennial. Both were of interest to Judge Edwin O. Lewis’s Independence Hall
Association and Philadelphia National Shrines Park Commission (see Chapter 5), but only
Franklin Court was initially of interest at the federal level. In fact, the Franklin Court site was considered such an integral part of INHP that Congress specifically provided for the site’s inclusion in the 1948 enabling legislation. The Graff House site was not so named.49
It would take over fifteen years for Congress to pass legislation allowing for acquisition of the
Graff House site. Of particular note in the August 1964 enabling act were the conditions related to reconstruction of the house. While the DOI, through NPS, was “authorized to acquire by purchase, donation, or with donated funds all or any interests in the land and improvements thereon located at the southwest corner of Market and South Seventh Streets,” Congress
49 Interest of Judge Lewis in both Franklin Court and Graff House sites discussed by Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 227. INHP enabling legislation is An Act to Provide for the Establishment of the Independence National Historical Park, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 80-795, 62 Stat. 1061 (1948).
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stipulated that “a replica of the Graff House” could only be undertaken “with donated funds,” which would extend to “furnish[ing] and maintain[ing] the same.” Furthermore, the land was not to be acquired “unless and until commitments are obtained for donations in an amount which in the judgment of the Secretary [of the Interior] is sufficient to provide a replica of the Graff
House.”50
So, while NPS could add the Graff House site to INHP, it could only do so once sufficient private funding could be secured to reconstruct the building. Even if adequate donations were obtained, the site itself might not be available for sale, so a timeline for acquisition was unclear.
Judge Lewis’s successor as INHP advocate was Arthur Kaufmann; in 1967 he entered into talks with the estate of Emily Balch, an economist and Nobel laureate. Balch had bequeathed several million dollars to establish the Balch Institute and Library, which was to be devoted to ethnic history. Four years later, Kaufmann’s efforts came to fruition. The Balch estate purchased the corner lot at Seventh and Market Streets in 1971; the land was large enough to be split between the Balch Institute and the reconstructed Graff House. With Kaufmann’s assurances that sufficient funds would be raised for reconstruction, NPS purchased the portion where the house had once stood.51
50 Portions of legislation from An Act to Authorize the Secretary of the Interior to Acquire the Graff House Site for Inclusion in Independence National Historical Park, and for Other Purposes, Pub. L. No. 88-477, 78 Stat. 587 (1964). Note also that the legislation specifically called for reconstructing the Graff House; in comparison, the INHP Organic Act (Pub. L. No. 80-795, 62 Stat. 1061 (1948)), made no such stipulation about Franklin Court. The only stipulation with regard to “the site of the Benjamin Franklin house” was that it be incorporated into INHP. 51 Discussion of Kaufmann’s negotiations and transactions involving the Graff House site from Greiff, Independence, 227.
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The next task facing NPS was to determine how the Graff House could be reconstructed. As was the case with Franklin Court, there was concern over the level of accuracy that could be achieved. NPS historians performed the same due diligence in their research on the house, and were able to locate images of the Graff House, however these were representative of how the building looked decades after Jefferson had resided there in 1776, when the house was newly finished.
History of the Graff House
Jacob Graff, Jr., a young bricklayer, purchased a lot measuring “32 feet along Market Street and
124 feet along Seventh to an alleyway leading into the block’s interior,” per a deed dated June 1,
1775. Graff’s father, Jacob Sr., was also a bricklayer; his receipt book, which miraculously is held by the Detroit Free Library, allowed NPS to follow the three-story, brick house’s progress.
The elder Graff’s entries indicate that by May 1776, all payments for construction were paid and the services had been rendered.52
It was well-timed, for on May 14, 1776, Thomas Jefferson returned to the Second Continental
Congress from his estate, Monticello, in Virginia. Jefferson had previously been staying at the
Benjamin Randolph residence on Chestnut Street between Third and Fourth Streets
(interestingly, about a block from Franklin Court), in what was then the heart of the city.
Seeking a quieter spot more removed from Philadelphia’s hustle and bustle, on May 23rd
52 Details from deed and elder Graff’s receipt book from John Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, Historical Data Section (Philadelphia, PA: National Park Service, 1972) 10-12, https://irma.nps.gov/DataStore/DownloadFile/465900.
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Jefferson relocated to the Graff House (Seventh Street was practically rural in comparison).
Jefferson occupied two furnished rooms – a parlor and a bedroom – on the Graffs’ second floor, and remained there until September 3, 1776, at which time he departed once more for Virginia.
During his stay, Jefferson drafted the text of the Declaration of Independence.53
NPS historians tracked the fate of the Graff House after Jefferson’s departure, which was rather pedestrian in character. From its research, NPS determined that the Graffs remained at their home for another two years; they sold the house to Jacob Hiltzheimer on July 28, 1777.
Hiltzheimer “never took residence in the Graff House, but rented it, and developed its lots in way advantageous to himself and his business [livery]…For years after the [Revolutionary] war the
Graff House stood untouched. Hiltzheimer managed it as a unit of the complex of properties owned by him at the junction of Market and Seventh Streets.” These properties included the lots surrounding the Graff House; in 1796 he built a house next door. After Hiltzheimer’s death in
1798, the property laid dormant until 1801, when it was portioned among his heirs. Shortly thereafter, the firm of Simon and Hyman Gratz (brothers) acquired the Graff House and the adjoining 1796 house from Hiltzheimer’s heirs.54
In June 1802, the Mutual Assurance Company surveyed the Graff House and the adjoining structure in order to issue the Gratzes an insurance policy. The insurance company’s description
53 For timeline of Jefferson in Philadelphia, see “The Thomas Jefferson Papers Timeline: 1774 to 1783,” Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/collections/thomas-jefferson-papers/articles- and-essays/the-thomas-jefferson-papers-timeline-1743-to-1827/1774-to-1783/. See also “Philadelphia,” Monticello, https://www.monticello.org/site/research-and- collections/philadelphia. 54 Quote and history of Graff House from Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 13-16.
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of the Graff House, while useful, was also as limiting as the 1766 description of Franklin’s home from the Philadelphia Contributionship company (see Chapter 8). Features of the Graff House were listed, but from the standpoint of replacement in case of fire – no substantive descriptors were provided that could allow for an accurate reconstruction.55
Six years later, the Gratzes obtained an updated insurance policy, reflecting alterations made to both the Graff House and the 1796 structure. A fourth floor was added, and the structures were extended to the rear forty feet along Seventh Street. In his analysis of the 1808 insurance policy,
John Platt determined that the first and second floors of the Graff House – those that would have been known to Jefferson – remained unchanged. Platt noted that “between 1776 and 1802 the house remained practically untouched; between 1802 and 1808 it was expanded, reroofed, and remodeled upstairs – but without a gutting of the interior at those levels where fine finishes would be lost. All such amenities of 1775 were retained for perfectly good reason: until 1801 the
Graff House served entirely as a residence, and after that date the better rooms provided the
Gratz brothers with company offices.” In Platt’s view, the research further showed that the Graff
House “survived in this state until after the firm of Simon and Hyman Gratz failed in 1826.”56
The Gratzes temporarily lost their property at Seventh and Market Streets, but regained it in
1835. They would not reoccupy the Graff House or the 1796 structure, though; after the firm’s failure in 1826, the buildings were rented to other businesses. Significantly, 1826 marked not only the failing of the Gratzes’ business, but also the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of
55 For excerpts from the insurance survey, see Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 19. 56 Ibid., 20.
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Independence – and the year that interest in the Graff House was awakened. As noted in Chapter
3, Jefferson died on July 4, 1826. However, before he died, Jefferson engaged in correspondence with Dr. James Mease, a Philadelphian interested in learning from Jefferson where he lived while drafting the Declaration. Jefferson shared his recollections with Mease about the house, although much of Jefferson’s wording was cautious. “I think,” “perhaps,” and “I may misremember” figure in Jefferson’s letters, noting that he was recollecting details from across five decades. However, Mease was able to use Jefferson’s description to identify the Graff
House as the spot where Jefferson had lodged.57
However, Mease’s interest was not widely circulated. That the Graff House was where Jefferson lodged faded from public memory, so much so that in the 1850s several other candidates were being mentioned in various publications. So egregious were the misidentifications that in 1855
John McAllister, one of Philadelphia’s most well-informed historians, set out to correct the record. In a letter to Benson J. Lossing, author of Fieldbook of the Revolution, McAllister laid out as much detail as he could gather from extant sources and from conversation with Hyman
Gratz. McAllister’s accounting of the Graff House contained “valuable and important details about the house’s early appearance, as well as its situation in 1855.”58
57 Mease’s interest in where Jefferson lodged when drafting the Declaration of Independence discussed by Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 3-5. 58 For McAllister’s full description, see Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 6-7; quote from page 7.
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McAllister’s description is supported by the earliest known photograph of the Graff House to exist, possibly taken as early as 1854 (Figure 28). Another photograph, dating from around
1857, provides a clearer view of first-floor infill along the Seventh Street elevation (Figure 29).
These photographs, along with the various descriptions uncovered by NPS, provided valuable details about the evolution of the Graff House. However, as with Franklin’s home, what was lacking was clear, concrete information about the Graff House as originally constructed. NPS did not even have any foundations at the Graff House site, as it did at Franklin Court. The
Gratzes’ buildings were ultimately sold to the Penn National Bank in 1882, and the Graff House was demolished over a period of weeks from February to March 1883.59
When the Graff House was demolished, Thomas Donaldson, lawyer and general agent for the
Smithsonian Institution and the National Museum, hoped to rebuild the structure on museum grounds. Accordingly, he purchased some of the building’s materials, including “the bricks and all the finish work of the second floor and the woodwork of the entire structure.” These materials were stored on an empty lot next to his home in West Philadelphia. Unfortunately,
Smithsonian Secretary Spence F. Baird, who supported rebuilding the Graff House, died, aborting the plans to move ahead at the National Museum.60
59 The subsequent structure on the Graff House site, architect Frank Furness’s Penn National Bank, was a massive masonry structure; excavations for its footings effectively removed any foundations of the Graff House. Sale to Penn National Bank and demolition discussed by Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 22. 60 Donaldson’s efforts and the plan to rebuild the Graff House discussed by Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, 1-2.
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In the meantime, Donaldson wrote The House in Which Thomas Jefferson Wrote the Declaration of Independence, detailing all information he could find about the Graff House, along with his role in the preservation effort. Donaldson died soon after the book’s publication in 1897; by
1901, his son, Thomas, noted that “vandals have carried off much of [the] good and bad
[materials].” NPS was not able to locate any of the materials that Donaldson had tried to save.61
Figure 28: Photograph of the Graff House, approximately 1854. The white lines roughly delineate the house’s original dimensions. This photograph was published in Thomas Donaldson’s The House in Which Thomas Jefferson Wrote the Declaration of Independence (1897); obtained from Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, Illustration No. 2.
61 Loss of building’s materials and quote from Yoelson, “Historical Data,” 8.
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Figure 29: Photograph of the Graff House, approximately 1855. Note the second-floor awning claiming the building to be “The Birth Place of Liberty.” Also note the first-floor infill along the Seventh Street elevation (longer dimension to the left of the image). Photograph attributed to John McAllister; obtained from Martin Yoelson, “Historical Data,” in Preliminary Development Plan for the Graff House, Independence National Historical Park, (Philadelphia: PA, National Park Service, 1967), Illustration 4, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, 1939-2011, Catalog #: 77252, Series III, Box 22, Folder 5.
In summation of the research performed through 1972, Platt noted that “the Graff House attracted no early interest as an art subject…indifference during the first 50 years, confusion thereafter surely undermined its appeal, while remodeling and rebuilding marred its outward
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graces.” Furthermore, “the Graff House is not a well-documented structure. In the sparseness of detailed and specific materials from the date of construction and the absence of interior views, much will have to be guessed at or made representative rather than exact [emphasis added].”
Regardless, Platt concluded that with “twenty years of highly organized research in all the most important repositories here and abroad…the reconstruction project can be proceeded with now in the full confidence that all reasonable efforts have been made to exhaust documentation.”62
Against the 1970 Decision on Franklin Court
If such language seems to go against the decision made two years earlier with respect to Franklin
Court (see Chapter 8) – it does. Penelope Hartshorne Batcheler’s findings in her 1969 “An
Architectural Summary of Franklin Court and Benjamin Franklin’s Home” stand in stark contrast to Platt’s declaration that even though much will need to be guessed at, reconstruction on the
Graff House could proceed with confidence that all possible information was obtained. As noted above, Batcheler’s stance on Franklin Court in 1969 was that so much was unknown, that any reconstruction would necessarily be false. Platt, on the other hand, seem to be intrigued by the opportunity presented by the Graff House, going so far as to note that “National Park Service architects will have a golden opportunity to set straight a public until now ignorant or misinformed about the ‘House in which Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of
Independence.’”63
62 Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, Iconography of the Graff House and Sources (unnumbered pages at end of report). 63 Platt, Historic Structure Report, Graff House, Iconography of the Graff House (unnumbered page at end of report).
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As discussed above, Platt, along with John L. Cotter, Chief of Archaeological Research, had formed two-thirds of the March 1969 committee tasked to provide an opinion as to whether NPS should reconstruct Franklin’s home (see Chapter 8). Platt and Cotter found in favor of reconstruction, while Batcheler, the third member, was the sole vote against – and it was her view that was eventually adopted by NPS. It should not be surprising that Platt was once again in favor of a reconstruction.
But, if the research on Franklin Court did not provide sufficient historical, archaeological, and architectural data to permit an accurate reproduction – Criterion (b) from the NPS guidelines on reconstruction – why did NPS proceed with reconstructing the Graff House? I feel that one of the main considerations that differentiated the approaches taken at these sites was the financing.
As established by law, the reconstruction of the Graff House was to be financed by private donations. In contrast, the Franklin Court project was funded by regular NPS appropriations. To this end, it could be argued that NPS, having obtained a sum of money from a private group – the
Balch estate – with the promise of using it for a reconstructed Graff House, could not renege on that arrangement.
In fact, Martin Yoelson, INHP’s Chief of Interpretation, referenced this conflicting contractual concept in a draft memorandum.64 Questioning what impact, if any, not proceeding with reconstruction at Franklin Court would have on other projects, Yoelson noted that “in the case of
64 The memorandum was undated, but Yoelson referenced the October 1969 findings of the Special Committee for Historic Preservation Regarding Franklin Court, so he likely composed the memo slightly thereafter.
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the Graff House, we are committed to a reconstruction at the time the donated funds are given to the Park. We will follow a strict application of the Handbook’s [Administrative Policies for
Historical Areas of the National Park System] policies on reconstruction with Franklin’s House, but not necessarily so with others.”65
It should be noted that while Platt felt that a reconstructed Graff House was a great interpretive opportunity, not all at NPS agreed with that approach. Alan Kent, Division of Planning and
Interpretation, who had been against reconstruction at Franklin Court as early as February 1968, reiterated this sentiment about the Graff House in a memorandum from August 21, 1970.
Addressing the NPS Chief of the Office of Environmental Planning and Design, Kent discussed internal conversations about future interpretative plans at the Graff House. “It is my hope that we are not fixed on a total refurnishing of the two rooms in which Jefferson lived while in the
Graff House. I strongly feel that the interpretation can be handled best by a selective refurnishing of only the one room in which Jefferson penned the Declaration…the whole is phony anyway and why legitimate it by meticulous refurnishing of two rooms [emphasis added].”66
65 Martin Yoelson, Draft Memorandum to Superintendent, INHP, undated, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 6. 66 Alan E. Kent, “Interpretation at Independence,” August 21, 1970, Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, Call #: 225.II.A.7204.83, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania.
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Reconstructing the Graff House
Against Kent’s hopes, and in line with the commitment referred to by Yoelson, the Graff House reconstruction proceeded, with both rooms on the second floor recreated. Construction spanned from July 1974 through October 1975, and cost about $861,000. Adding in design contracts and other costs, the final total for the Graff House reconstruction amounted to about $1.4 million.
The final design, executed by the Philadelphia architectural firm of Harbeson, Hough, Livingston
& Larson (HHH&L), drew from Yoelson and Platt’s earlier research, as well as extant or documented contemporary (1770 to 1780) buildings.67
As Platt noted in his Historic Structure Report, Graff House, several prominent features were recreated as best as possible due to the lack of concrete evidence about the original design. The main entrance, on the Seventh Street elevation, was one such conjectural element. The door debate, focused on whether it had been centered or off-center, had begun as early as 1967 (when
Arthur Kaufmann had first entered into talks with the Balch estate). A preliminary NPS development plan from May 1967 noted that “in the Park’s photographic holdings is a late nineteenth century artist’s watercolor representation of the Graff House (Figure 30). Since this illustration depicts structural inaccuracies, such as a non-centered doorway on the Seventh Street
67 Final cost of Graff House project and construction timeline from Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 87-88. For sources consulted by HHH&L, see Harbeson, Hough, Livingston & Larson, “Reconstruction of the Graff House and Construction of an Interpretive Wing: Architectural Research, Program Feasibility, and Schematic Design Report,” November 1973: 3, 24-26, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Historic Resource Studies Collection, 1939- 2011, Catalog #: 77252, Series III, Box 22, Folder 8.
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side of the dwelling, it should not be used as a source material, and has not been included in the report.”68
Figure 30: Nineteenth-century watercolor of the Graff House, by Benjamin Ridgeway Evans. While the watercolor was not included in the 1967 Preliminary Development Plan for the Graff House due to its stated “structural inaccuracies,” this is likely the work referred to by Yoelson, as the door is “non-centered,” and it was later referenced in Platt’s 1972 historic structure report (on Iconography of the Graff House, unnumbered page at end of the report). Image obtained from http://www.philaplace.org/story/1644/.
The feeling in 1967 was that the Seventh Street entrance must have been centered, as Georgian architecture of the late eighteenth century tended to be symmetrical. Lending favor to the
68 Yoelson, “Historical Data,” 8.
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centered-door theory was the design of the extant Todd House (constructed circa 1775), located within INHP at the corner of Fourth and Walnut Streets (Figure 31). As the Todd House is typical of the dwellings found in Philadelphia in the 1770s, it “served as the best guide for filling in the details necessary to complete the [Graff House] design.”69
Figure 31: View of the Todd House, looking roughly northeast from the southwest corner of Fourth and Walnut Streets; as it was contemporary to the Graff House, it served as a design inspiration for the reconstruction (compare to Figure 4).
69 HHH&L, “Reconstruction of the Graff House,” 6.
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However, by 1973 the centered-door theory had fallen out of favor. Under close examination, the 1854 photograph reveals that the watertable continues unbroken under the infilled, center bay; in addition, the stone lintel above the infill matches that of the surviving windows (see
Figure 28). If this had been the original location of the door, why would effort be made to make it appear as if it had once been a window? On the other hand, the infill to the right (closer to
Market Street) shows no such similar evidence, and in fact, there is a large section of non- matching brick above the infill, implying that some other architectural element – such as a door pediment – had been removed. Accordingly, HHH&L’s design for the reconstruction included an off-centered door (see Figure 4).70
In addition to designing the reconstructed Graff House, HHH&L designed a modern extension, housing mechanical services and a theater and sales area. Situated approximately where the
1796 house had stood, the modern extension was composed entirely of exposed, poured concrete so as to “express the contemporary nature of the wing’s design and to contrast favorably with the materials and domestic scale of the Graff House” (Figures 32 and 33). To further set the modern extension apart from the Graff House, the northern and southern elevations were set at forty-five degree angles, effectively allowing “the Graff House to be partially viewed from the west as well as the north, south and east. Historically this is of interest since the house was freestanding when first erected…” The angled southern wall was also intended to “recall the form of the Balch
Institute and act as a unifying element for the two projects.” The concrete Balch Institute housed
70 Evidence in support of an off-centered door from HHH&L, “Reconstruction of the Graff House,” 13-14.
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exhibits on 300 years of American immigration, and was built at the rear of the lot, separated from the Graff House by a small garden (Figure 34).71
Figure 32: View of the Graff House and modern extension, looking roughly south from Market Street.
Figure 33: View of the Graff House and modern extension, looking roughly northwest from Seventh Street.
71 Services contained in modern wing discussed by Mattes, Landmarks of Liberty, 87. Quotes about the modern wing’s design from HHH&L, “Reconstruction of the Graff House,” 37. Type of exhibitions at Balch Institute discussed by Ray McBride, “Highlights of City’s 200th Birthday Bash,” Philadelphia Daily News, February 13, 1976, 62.
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Figure 34: HHH&L’s site plan of the Graff House project; the open space behind the Graff House is a small garden. Obtained from HHH&L, “Reconstruction of the Graff House,” 49.
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Reception of the Two Projects in 1976
In line with the two different approaches taken with Franklin Court and the Graff House, public reaction differed greatly. The reconstructed Graff House met with both praise and jeers.
Thomas Hine, architecture writer for The Philadelphia Inquirer, viewed the Graff House with particular disdain. In an article titled, “We’re Building Lies about the City’s Past,” Hine noted that while NPS “refrained from building a cute and phony house for Benjamin Franklin,” the agency “did, however, submit to the temptation to build Graff [H]ouse, with its upstairs room mimicking the place where Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence.” Questioning what a visitor could glean from the Graff House, Hine stated that “anyone who is really interested in
Jefferson should go to [Monticello] and see the genuine architecture and artifacts left by a great man. He should stay away from Seventh and Market Streets and that little brick house wrapped ludicrously in the concrete and acute angles that have become cliches of contemporary architecture.”72
In a letter to the editor, Pearl M. Grika of Cherry Hill, New Jersey reacted to Hines’s opinion, noting that the Graff House “was not meant to be an imitation of Monticello. Let’s accept it for what it is. We can learn a great deal about our nation’s beginnings and leaders from these so- called ‘fakes.’”73
72 Thomas Hine, “We’re Building Lies about the City’s Past,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, February 29, 1976, 9-I. 73 Pearl M. Grika, “Reconstructions Aren’t Fakes,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, March 10, 1976, 10-A.
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Grika’s position on the Graff House reconstruction was mirrored by Jack E. Boucher, from
Linwood, New Jersey. In his letter to the editor, Boucher noted that while Hines was “quite right in criticism of reconstructions (of historic buildings) in general,” he was wrong about the Graff
House. That site, Boucher felt, was “vital to the interpretation of the story of the Independence
National Historical Park. It would have otherwise been a sad commentary for visitors to
Independence Park, inspired by the Liberty Bell, by Independence Hall…to walk to 7th and
Market to see the building where Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, only to see a modest historic marke[r].”74
Hine, who arguably approached the reconstructed Graff House from a more professional standpoint, felt that the lack of accuracy – and therefore the lack of authenticity – exhibited by the Graff House was enough to condemn it as a mistake. Monticello, with its higher degree of authenticity, was instead a more proper architectural homage to Jefferson. On the other hand, the public disagreed with Hine’s view, approaching the matter of a reconstructed Graff House from what it, as a symbol, contributed to INHP. Authenticity took second place to the ability of a visitor to stand in a setting reminiscent of the atmosphere in which Jefferson penned the
Declaration.
Given Hine’s stance on the Graff House, it should come as no surprise that he praised Franklin
Court’s execution by Venturi and Rauch. Hine predicted that Franklin Court would “be the
Bicentennial’s most memorable architectural image…Franklin Court is inward looking…The
74 Jack E. Boucher, “Tavern is Worth It,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, March 22, 1976, 10-A.
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two tubular steel ‘ghost’ structures are already a landmark in the old city area…These can be viewed simply as modern sculpture, or they can be of assistance in trying to recapture that lost time when all those people we see on our money were hanging out on Market Street.” Regarding the use of Franklin’s quotes on the slate plan of the house, Hine noted that “these quotations provide us with something human, with which we can easily identify.” In keeping with his sentiment about Franklin Court being an “inward looking” site, Hine summarized that Franklin
Court “shows us that when we go searching back through our past, it is in order to find ourselves.”75
Of note is Hine’s word choice when discussing Franklin Court. It is not just a site, but an
“architectural image,” which can be viewed as “modern sculpture” while also assisting with more inward contemplation. Going beyond a building, Venturi and Rauch’s interpretation of
Franklin Court in steel tubing and pavement communicates many messages through a visual language that can be read differently by each visitor. In fact, an internal NPS memorandum from
March 21, 1980 reveals an interesting view that Robert Venturi held on Franklin Court.
Referencing a talk that Venturi gave, the memorandum notes that Venturi compared the interpretive approach of Franklin Court to a newspaper. “Like a newspaper, it has headlines, subtitles, and fine print, and the visitor can choose what they read according to their level of interest.”76 In this way, every experience at Franklin Court is different.
75 Thomas Hine, “Shrine for Now, A Park Forever,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, April 18, 1976, 1-B and 8-B. 76 Russell P. Smith, Memorandum to Chief, Branch of History, Division of Publications, March 21, 1980, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 12, Folder 5.
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Chapter 11: A Critical Look at Franklin Court and its Legacy
Franklin Court…Something Different
Franklin Court’s ability to be interpreted differently by every visitor substantiates its uniqueness.
Standing apart from the arc of historic preservation practice up to the Bicentennial, Franklin
Court rejects the traditional brick-and-mortar interpretation of a building. Franklin Court’s graphic, visual, and self-guided nature shows, rather than tells. Visitors to Franklin Court interact with the ghost structure per their timeline, not goaded along by an NPS interpretive guide. The quotations from Franklin’s letters – his own words echoing across the years – form the basis of how the visitor reimagines the house. Indeed, it was these very letters, exchanged across the Atlantic with his wife, that enabled Franklin himself to first envision his house, as he was largely absent during its construction. The visitor is presented with the same experience that
Franklin had, building the home in the mind using only the written word as a guide. Separated from the surrounding urban fabric, the visitor also experiences what Franklin must have enjoyed about his home – its removal from the noise and clutter of the city. Franklin’s historic garden need not be recreated in painstaking accuracy for this to be effected, as the ambiance is captured by mere fact that one is walking around spare steel tubing, through a sudden surfeit of space accessed through the historic brick archway from Market Street (see Figure 1, and consider walking through the constrictive passageway into the open courtyard beyond).
In contrast to the approach taken with the contemporary Graff House project, which was reconstructed as best as possible given the lack of substantive information, the design of Franklin
Court deviated from traditional preservation practice at the time (exemplified not only by the
Graff House, but by the WNMA’s Wakefield, discussed in Chapter 8). Strict interpretation of
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the NPS guidelines on reconstruction, put into place as a result of the issues caused by
Wakefield, kept Franklin Court from following the reconstruction model. Instead, by focusing on Franklin, the man and not the myth, and the sense of place that Franklin must have enjoyed about his home, a project was facilitated that rose above the Founding Father historical house museum recipe.
Franklin Court as an Award-Winning Design
Franklin Court’s ingenuity was not lost on the architectural field. In April 1976, even before the
Bicentennial unveiling, Venturi and Rauch were selected by the Philadelphia chapter of the
American Institute of Architects (AIA) for its Adaptive Reuse Award. Franklin Court, highlighted as “both a bit of history and a peaceful pause in the midst of a bustling city,” was also selected for an award at the Second Awards Program of the Urban Design Case Studies in
1977. Franklin Court also received the AIA’s National Honor Award in 1977, a designation not usually achieved by an NPS project.171
Building on these honors, in 1984 Venturi and Rauch (at that time known as Venturi, Rauch and
Scott Brown Associates) submitted Franklin Court for consideration for the First Presidential
Design Award – an award that it won. “Selected by a jury of prominent design experts chaired by architect I.M. Pei,” Franklin Court was noted to be “an inventive sculptural statement that
171 AIA selection of Franklin Court discussed by Thomas Hine, “‘Freight Train’ of a Building Earns Award,” The Philadelphia Inquirer, April 18, 1976, 1-I. Quote and information on the Urban Design Case Studies award from Ann Ferebee, ed., Second Awards Program, Urban Design Case Studies (Washington, DC: RC Publications, Inc., 1977), 62-63. AIA National Honor Award discussed by Constance Greiff, Independence: The Creation of a National Park (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 227.
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evokes a historic setting…Franklin Court achieves a blend of restoration, imaginative recreation and contemporary design while honoring the requirements of each.”172
Franklin Court as Modern Art
Notable is the recurring reference to the sculptural nature of Franklin Court’s design, almost as if the project should be interpreted not as architecture, but as modern art. Venturi’s practice, having begun in the late 1950s, “coincides with art tendencies later labelled as Pop. This is not a coincidence. The dynamics of the late ‘50s and early ‘60s made a case for consumerism as a mode of cultural expression…Pop, however, was not so much celebrating abundance, but attempted to define a method of conscious choice in a landscape of plenty. It re-introduced premeditated composition. Venturi’s architecture is also premeditated…it is precisely his method of extracting the elements of common life, consciously composing them into high art, that makes his ‘architecture for museums.’”173
Looking at artwork contemporary to the Franklin Court project, a similarity can be seen in the conceptual, minimalist pieces produced by American artist Sol LeWitt. Starting in 1974, LeWitt
“systematically explored the 122 ways of ‘not making a cube, all the ways of the cube not being complete.’” His 122 cubes (Figure 35) “frame and, by extension, incorporate elements from the
172 National Endowment for the Arts News, “First Presidential Awards for Design Excellence Presented to Recipients by President Reagan,” January 30, 1985, Independence National Historical Park Archives, Cultural Resource Management Records, 1936-2003, Catalog #: 77171, Series II, Box 19, Folder 10. 173 Relation of Venturi’s work to Pop from Kersten Geers, Jelena Pancevac, and Andrea Zanderigo, eds., The Difficult Whole: A Reference Book on Robert Venturi, John Rauch and Denise Scott Brown (Zurich, Switzerland: Park Books, 2016), 201.
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surrounding space,” and in so doing, “they muddy the boundary between art and world.”174 The relationship of line and void at Franklin Court accomplishes much the same effect – drawing in the visitor, both to a historic space and yet also to a space largely open to one’s own interpretation.
Figure 35: Sol LeWitt’s Incomplete Open Cubes (1974/1982), “Unfinished: Thoughts Left Visible,” the LeWitt Estate, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, CT.
174 Quote about LeWitt’s work from Incomplete Open Cubes (1974/1982), The Metropolitan Museum of Art [The Met Breuer], “Unfinished: Thoughts Left Visible,” March 18-September 4, 2016, https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/691091.
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It is also worth noting that the graphic nature of Franklin Court – an outline, seemingly etched in white ink over a similarly sketched floor plan – paralleled the graphic craze driven by the
Bicentennial. As exemplified by the Bicentennial logo (see Figure 20), and imprinted on countless pieces of Bicentennial-themed merchandise, a quick visual imprint was important at the time.
Further, the minimalist simplicity of Venturi’s design – a structure suggested through attenuated steel tubing – could also spring from the concurrent controversy that, in 1973, led to the dissolution of the ARBC and the creation of the ARBA (see Chapter 7). The clean lines of
Franklin Court reject the complicated political machinations and overreach that had doomed the
ARBC – and the complications posed by reconstructions such as Wakefield – and instead adopt a
Spartan approach, almost republican in character, that likely would have appealed to the
Founding Fathers.
Franklin Court as Inspiration in the Field of Preservation
The approach unveiled at Franklin Court was a repudiation of what had come before, and was accordingly awarded for the project’s fresh take on preservation. As much art as it was architecture, Franklin Court marked a deviation in preservation practice, which had previously relied on erecting brick and mortar replicas when an original building, long-demolished, was to be brought back to life. The abstract approach taken at Franklin Court – relying on graphic elements and the visitor’s own understanding to define the space – would affect the way that preservationists approached site interpretation.
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Franklin Court may stand as the most ambitious project undertaken by NPS, but it was not the last abstract project NPS would execute. Franklin Court was followed in 1985 by the Samuel
Hartwell House site in Minute Man National Historical Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The home, which figured in the 1775 fighting at Concord, burned down in 1968 (Figure 36). All that remained was the central chimney block. Stabilization work began in 1977, but with the risk of further deterioration, NPS erected a ghost structure of timber “approximating the size and shape of the original building, providing a protective shelter for the historic chimney” (Figure 37).
While NPS “used the same sized members and the same construction style as the original,” it
“did not attempt to imitate the hand-craft methods of the original, using instead steel angles for mortise and tenon joints and concrete sills for wooden ones.”175 The house then lives on in shape and footprint, but the framing, clearly modern, provides a backdrop in which the visitor can interpret the original chimney block.
Franklin Court would not be the only graphic project with a historic precedent designed by
Venturi’s firm. In 1978, Venturi and Rauch offered a redesign of Washington, DC’s Western
Plaza (on Pennsylvania Avenue between 14th and 15th Streets). Echoing the floor plan of
Franklin’s home, the site was “to be a large, rectangular plaza incised with Pierre Charles
L’Enfant’s map of DC, lined by low landscaping with two 100-foot-tall-marble pylons framing the Treasury Building” (Figure 38). Marble and granite formed the visual elements on the ground, and a grassy strip stood in place of the Mall. Another feature, which would later be
175 Background on Samuel Hartwell House site from National Park Service, https://www.nps.gov/mima/learn/historyculture/samuel-hartwell-house-site.htm. Quote from Joan Zenzen, Bridging the Past: An Administrative History of Minute Man National Historical Park, National Park Service, 2010: 206, http://www.npshistory.com/publications/mima/adhi.pdf.
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scrapped, were miniature versions of the White House and the Capitol, which stood in for the originals on the map (Figure 39). “When mock-ups of the miniature models of the White House and US Capitol were temporarily installed, Scott Brown said, ‘Immediately, tourists came there with their kids, put them in front of the buildings and took photographs of them with the big buildings in the background, which was exactly the thing that we wanted them to do.’” The federal Commission of Fine Arts did not agree, and only after the vertical elements were removed was the design approved, and ultimately completed in 1980.176
Figure 36: Samuel Hartwell House from the southwest, 1961; photograph by Cervin Robinson, Library of Congress, Historic American Buildings Survey Collection, HABS MA-828, August 1961, https://www.loc.gov/resource/hhh.ma0290.photos/?sp=2.
176 Details on plaza and quotes from Michelle Goldchain, “Why is Pennsylvania Avenue’s Freedom Plaza Such a Failure?,” Greater Greater Washington, July 31, 2018, https://ggwash.org/view/68468/why-is-pennsylvania-avenues-freedom-plaza-such-a-failure.
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Figure 37: Samuel Hartwell House site, 2009; image from https://www.flickr.com/photos/itinerant_wanderer/4047506770/in/photostream/.
Figure 38: Plan of Western Plaza, Venturi and Rauch, 1979; image courtesy of Venturi, Scott Brown Collection, The Architectural Archives, University of Pennsylvania, https://sah- archipedia.org/buildings/DC-01-DE31.
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Figure 39: Model of the United States Capitol, circa 1979; photograph from Goldchain, “Why is Pennsylvania Avenue’s Freedom Plaza Such a Failure?”
Following on the graphic plan approach exhibited at Franklin Court and DC’s Western Plaza, is the interpretive scheme at Australia’s Museum of Sydney (Denton Corker Marshall, 1992-1995).
Built on the site of the First Government House, which served as the administrative center of the colony from 1788 to 1845 (Figure 40), the museum interprets this important building through a floor plan outlined in white granite pavers (Figure 41). As a site on Australia’s National
Heritage List, the First Government House Site symbolizes “the most tangible link to the
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foundation of European settlement in Australia.” In addition, like at Franklin Court, archaeological remains offer a further mode of interpretation. “Although mostly covered today by large granite tiles carve[d] with the outline of the foundations and some glass observation panels, the archaeological remains of the building (including footings, walls, floors, drains, cuttings, paving, trenches, privies, garden soil, impressions of removed materials and artefacts) still have the potential to reveal much about the earliest efforts to build a nation.”177
Figure 40: Plan of the First Government House, 1845, attributed to Mortimer Lewis, from State Records, New South Wales, https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/stories/modelling-first- government-house.
177 Quote from the First Government House Site’s National Heritage Places page, https://www.environment.gov.au/heritage/places/national/first-government-house. Additional information on the site provided by Jane Kelso, “Modelling the First Government House,” Museum of Sydney, https://sydneylivingmuseums.com.au/stories/modelling-first-government- house.
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Figure 41: Courtyard in front of the Museum of Sydney, showing the orientation of the First Government House, which stood here from 1788-1845. Image from Denton Corker Marshall, http://www.dentoncorkermarshall.com/experience/cultural-civic/.
A current example of an abstract approach to interpretation is Menokin, the former Virginia estate of Francis Lightfoot Lee, who signed the Declaration of Independence. Attributed to John
Ariss due to similarities to the nearby Mount Airy estate, Menokin was built around 1769
(Figure 42); the home fell into disrepair in the twentieth century. Despite the deterioration,
Menokin was named a National Historic Landmark in 1971. In 1994, the Menokin Foundation acquired the property, and assessed the structure. While much of the house was in ruins, the
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Menokin Foundation discovered that about 80% of the original material remained. To forestall further deterioration, a roof was placed over the house in 2000 (Figure 43).178
Figure 42: Plan and elevations for Menokin and dependencies, circa 1769; courtesy of the Virginia Historical Society, from https://www.menokin.org/envira/original-presentation- drawing/.
178 Attribution to John Ariss and date of completion from Charles W. Snell, National Register of Historic Places Nomination Form, National Park Service, June 4, 1971, https://npgallery.nps.gov/GetAsset/f7c2e1d7-ebd0-4682-adf3-9ed7cca71ec1/. Timeline of activity at Menokin from Meghan O’Connor, “Eighteenth-Century House Ruin to be Restored…with Glass,” National Trust for Historic Preservation, https://savingplaces.org/stories/menokin-foundation-restored-structural-glass#.XMteSOhKguX.
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Figure 43: Roof shielding Menokin’s ruins, post-2000; image courtesy of Menokin Foundation, from O’Connor, “Eighteenth-Century House Ruin.”
The Menokin Foundation proceeded to document the site, enlisting the assistance of architect
Charles Phillips. Thinking about the possibilities of structural glass, Phillips proposed the idea to the Menokin Foundation. “By rebuilding the missing walls using structural glass, the house would be more stable, but still provide a unique learning experience in line with [President of the
Menokin Foundation Martin] King’s vision” for Menokin – not a house museum, but a unique teaching experience provided by a disassembled colonial house. To design its “Glass House
Project,” the Menokin Foundation hired Machado and Silvetti Associates in 2012. In keeping with the Foundation’s vision, Machado and Silvetti Associates designed a plan in which “the
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house will not be reconstructed as it once was; rather, innovative display techniques will be used to reveal the historic fabric of the building (Figure 44). The exterior will be partially encased in glass. Indoors, glass will be used in some areas to provide a catwalk and a transparent floor, through which visitors can see from the third floor to the basement. By visually showing the process of reconstruction, the story of Menokin will be told – not as a snapshot in time but as a continuing narrative – while serving as a powerful teaching tool.”179
Figure 44: Machado and Silvetti’s rendering, perspective view of north elevation; from Machado and Silvetti Associates, PC, “The Menokin Glass Concept Project: Final Concept Design Report – Volume 1,” March 31, 2013: 3.8, https://www.menokin.org/wp- content/uploads/2015/08/Volume-I-low-res.pdf.
179 Phillips’s suggestion of using structural glass and quote, as well as commissioning of Machado and Silvetti discussed by O’Connor, “Eighteenth-Century House Ruin.” Quote regarding the design from “The Menokin Glass Project Team,” Menokin, https://www.menokin.org/glass-project-team/.
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The approach at Menokin serves not to recreate the house as it was, but rather showcase how the house came to be. By conserving the existing fabric and revealing the ways in which the building was constructed, the Menokin Foundation seeks to provide information that could only be acquired if one were to deconstruct a colonial home. The abstraction of Menokin in glass therefore serves a function that a fully reconstructed building such as the Graff House could not.
The Franklin Court project, an abstraction of Franklin’s former home, stood apart from both contemporary preservation projects, and its predecessors. Its design showed that the spirit and sense of a long-demolished building could be communicated through something other than a straightforward reconstruction. In so doing, Franklin Court took a step away from historic preservation practice as it had developed through the Bicentennial – the very practice that had first imbued the site with meaning, due to its association with Benjamin Franklin. Would
Franklin Court have even been selected for incorporation into INHP in 1948 had it been known at that time that a full-fledged reconstruction would not have been possible? Seeing as how reconstruction was written into the legislation authorizing acquisition of the Graff House site in
1964, showing the importance placed on the historic house replica in the thinking of that time, it is not likely that NPS would have expended its resources on the Franklin Court site.
However, by 1970, when the decision was made not to reconstruct, it was a foregone conclusion that something would rise at Franklin Court. And what did rise - Venturi and Rauch’s graphic expression in steel tubing and paving stones – achieved something that would likely have made its namesake proud. Franklin, scientist, inventor, promulgator of progress, was honored by something completely new in preservation practice. In a less-is-more approach, the design of
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Franklin Court allows the visitor to craft his or her own interpretation of Franklin’s former home, guided only by the relationship of the frame structures to the open space and Franklin’s own written word.
Franklin Court, rather than being a fluke experiment in preservation, has had a long-lasting effect, as is reflected by abstract interpretive approaches taken in preservation projects in the
United States and abroad. And while the projects discussed herein might not all have been directly inspired by Venturi and Rauch’s Franklin Court, I argue that there is a debt that is owed to Venturi and Rauch’s vision. That Franklin Court proceeded as it did is a testament to the forward-thinking and firmly-held beliefs of the stalwart NPS team at INHP that something other than a strict reconstruction could resonate with the public.
As the practice of historic preservation continues to evolve, I hope that the topics discussed in this work can play a part in moving along the conversation about what lies ahead for preservation. As historic buildings continue to deteriorate, as at Menokin, how can heritage be interpreted other than via strict reconstruction? Should structures that have already been fully or partially reconstructed, such as the Graff House and Wakefield, be interpreted any differently?
And, is there a point when a reconstruction itself becomes historic, valuable more for what it communicates about its period of construction than its intended period of interpretation? Almost fifty years have passed since the Bicentennial, making it ever more important to look back at the approaches taken at that time, and reflect on the lessons that the Bicentennial projects can impart.
Franklin Court, innovatively resurrected for the Bicentennial, can continue to inspire preservation practice.
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