Remembering Woolworth’s

by Karen Plunkett-Powell

  Escavation officially began during the summer of 1910. The wrecker’s ball swung. Timbers buckled and splintered. Down came the history-haunted buildings that had once stood shoulder to shoulder. To prepare the escavated site for the new building (estimated to weigh over 200 million pounds), the Foundation Company sank great metal tubes into the Manhattan bedrock, to make certain that no cave-ins would occur during or after construction. The supporting structures were imbedded 115 feet deep below the curb level, then topped off by a fully finished cellar, subbasement, and boiler room. The underground section of the Woolworth edifice was so high that it was actually a building unto itself. Seeing an opportunity for media attention, Hogan’s real estate firm erected a huge billboard outside, proclaiming:

  HIGHEST IN THE WORLD!

  The magnificent WOOLWORTH BUILDING,—

  to be erected on this site.—

  Ready for occupancy, 1912.

  Woolworth Co. booklets have long boasted that not one life was lost during the project, but a small article in the New York Times belies this claim. On the morning of December 13, 1910, a fifty-foot boom, supported by a cable attached to a derrick, was carrying a load of dirt and rocks to the street. The cable snapped and the boom crashed to the ground, killing an unidentified man and fatally injuring a young boy. Amazingly, considering all the heavy machinery on hand, there were no further casualties during construction.

  The Eighth Wonder Of The World Takes Form

  Even as the steel framework of the Woolworth Building first inched through sidewalk level on November 15, 1911, Frank had still not decided exactly what materials would be used to adorn the outside of his skyscraper, how the interior lobby would be designed, or exactly how tall the building would be. A harried Cass Gilbert had already drawn up numerous architectural sketches, but Mr. Woolworth was not yet not satisfied. Nonetheless, Gilbert persevered. “It was clear to [Gilbert],” wrote James Brough, “that if his patience outlasted his new client’s vacillations they might together awe the nation with the breadth of their vision. Still, he could not guess how severely his forbearance was to be tested.”

  Frank Woolworth was all over the project, asking questions and meddling in decisions that only engineers had the expertise to resolve. For example, Woolworth wanted to cover the entire exterior in marble, but Horowitz and Gilbert dissuaded him in favor of terra-cotta; marble was much too heavy and might, in time, collapse under its own weight. At one point, Woolworth slyly suggested that, because of the prestige of being attached to the world’s tallest building, Horowitz and Gilbert ought to forgo their fees. Their refusal was as stony as the building itself—and as firm. Somehow, they all remained friends through the ordeal.

  After much ado, the final architectural plans were approved. Frank’s building was to be gothic in style, but state-of-the-art in mechanical design. On his frequent trips to London, the lofty spires of the houses of Parliament had taken his breath away, and Frank considered this to be the ideal architectural model. Both aesthetic and interior construction plans also included a host of safety features. The 1890 Chicago fire was still fresh in America’s mind; the cinders of 17,000 dwellings and the ashes of countless victims were grim reminders of the folly of careless construction techniques. Woolworth told Gilbert and Horowitz that no expense should be spared in making his corporate castle as safe as possible.

  Laying the Groundwork

  Rare photo from 1911 shows workers from the Foundation Company, during escavation for the Woolworth Building. Notice the lack of hard hats and safety glasses.

  The Engineering Report of Saturday, April 12, 1912 described the first phase of the project, and how the projected 200 million pounds of weight would be supported. The Foundation Company’s muscled workers, known as “sandhogs,” painstakingly scooped out sand and fill with orange peel buckets, which were then hoisted to waiting wagons in the street above, drawn by horses clip-clopping impatiently and snorting steam into the air. Great metal tubes were brought in so that no cave-ins would occur during construction, or after. These tubes were sunk, through soil, mud, silt and water, to bedrock, along the Manhattan schist. The tubes were emptied by means of pneumatic pressure and filled with concrete, forming 69 solid piers, on which the steel columns of the structure would rest. The project was one of the most challenging of its era.

  At this point, the matter of additional financing reared its pesky head. Woolworth had already spent considerable sums on preliminary architectural plans, escavation, and other costly projects. Suddenly, he realized there might be a way to foot the remainder of the bill.

  During the period he was setting the cogs in motion for his skyscraper, he had also been busy finalizing the $65-million merger that created the F. W. Woolworth Co. Since the merger was finalized on January 1, 1912, Frank thought it perfectly logical that his skyscraper should be bankrolled through profits from the new company’s capital stock enterprise.

  He consulted with Goldman, Sachs & Co., the investment firm that had handled the stock issue for the grand merger. Without preamble, Frank asked for the money to finish his building. Henry Goldman promptly rebuffed him. The new shareholders might be disturbed, explained Goldman, if Frank pulled millions out of the new corporation’s bank account. Naturally, this response did not sit well with Frank, who was accustomed to getting his way.

  In the end, Frank called upon his good humor, flexibility, and his bulging pockets to resolve the dilemma. He informed Goldman that he would pay for the entire building himself, in cash. He then set up another business, Broadway Park Place, to manage the details.

  Thus, the Woolworth Building became one of the only skyscrapers in the world, past or present, to be erected completely unencumbered by mortgage or other debts.

  Woolworth Building “Firsts”

  As New Yorkers gaped from the sidewalks, the Skyline Queen slowly stitched upward, like embroidered lace, against the New York sky. On July 12, 1912, a flag was flown in the breeze at the pinnacle of the tower, signifying the completion of the structural steelwork. Ten months later the entire building was finished.

  The completed Woolworth Building was full of firsts. It used the largest, most efficient steam and water pipes to date. To contain any unexpected fires, the internal rooms were designed with steel reinforced doors and walls. Its lofty spire was resistant to 200 m.p.h. hurricane-strength winds, and also had an ingenious lightning deflector system. This system was put to the test less than one month later, when a severe thunderstorm, accompanied by huge hailstones, hit Manhattan Island. Heavy winds buffeted lower Broadway and lightning crackled down, until suddenly, the Woolworth Building was struck head-on. Showers of sparks rained down, but there was no fire and only small damage. Not a splinter of wood had been used in its external superstructure, and its deflecting system (a copper roof, connected by copper cables to the steel framework) had saved the day.

  The Woolworth Building was equipped with its own mini-hospital.

  During lighter moments, executives could relax in the ornate, Olympic-sized pool.

  A humorous caricature of Frank Woolworth counting his money was incorporated into the upper section of the Grand Arcade Lobby.

  Caricature of architect Cass Gilbert holding the building.

  Another first included the building’s elevator system; its thirty-four high-speed cars encompassed a string of safety features, the most important being an air-compression and cushioning system. Theoretically, if a major cable snapped, the pressure in the elevator was designed to compress, allowing very little air to escape. This would limit the speed of the drop, allowing the car to slowly come to rest at the base of the shaft. Woolworth felt it necessary to test this theory, so he had his engineers load the forty-fifth-story elevator car with over 7,000 pounds of material, well exceeding the weight limit. On top of the pile, they placed a glass full of water. As expected, within a short time, all preliminary safety precautions failed and the elevator plunged down in a noisy free-fall. The air cushion system worked, though,
and when the car reached the bottom level, the load was unharmed and the glass of water was still full.

  Besides being lightning proof, hurricane proof, and fire-resistant, the Woolworth Building was the first to have its own in-house police, fire, and mini-hospital departments. Never before had a commercial landowner placed so much money and effort into safety, or luxury.

  Inside and out, the Woolworth Building was hailed as a work of pure, soaring art, an architectural masterpiece, looking like an elongated church viewed in a convex mirror. Due to its U-shaped design, every office, from the base of the building to the twenty-seventh floor, enjoyed an outside view. In the Grand Arcade, a beautiful, stained-glass “Labor and Commerce” fresco was inset into the second-floor balcony. (According to folklore, the faces on the fresco were both modeled after Woolworth’s beloved mother, Fanny.) The building featured marble interiors, gold-and-turquoise terrazzo ceilings, gilded tracery, majestic external spires, flying buttresses and gargoyles. On almost every floor, little “W’s” were carved into the woodwork; a subtle but distinct reminder of the man who had made it all possible. Frank was taking no chances that his name would be lost to posterity.

  Unbeknownst to Frank, a few little extras had been added to his magnum opus. Tom Johnson, one of Cass Gilbert’s team of artists, designed a series of gargoylelike caricatures of the building’s prime movers and shakers. He then placed them high under the supporting crossbeams in the main entrance lobby. To this day, visitors can look up and see Gunvald Aus measuring a steel girder, and Hogan closing a real estate deal. Pierson, the first bank tenant, and Horowitz, the builder, are also there, along with Cass Gilbert holding up a model of the building.

  Tom Johnson did not, of course, forget the King of Commerce. Johnson added a humorous and fitting caricature of Frank Woolworth himself, hunched over, intently counting his nickels and dimes. Reportedly, when Frank first saw the gargoyles, he dissolved with laughter and ordered that they never be removed.

  There is another popular story, which brings to mind the Frank Woolworth of younger days; the boy who avidly investigated the old mansions of northern New York. Early in 1913, Frank suggested to his friend, organist Frank Taft, that they explore the nearly completed Woolworth Building. The upper floors were still closed to everyone but workmen and officials, so, like a mischievous child, Woolworth waited until after hours, then snuck Taft inside. Together, they made their way upward. They used the elevators until the elevators ran out, and then proceeded up the winding stairways. At the topmost landing, Frank stopped to rest, out of breath from the unaccustomed exertion. He was about to give up and start back when Taft noticed a ladder leading to a small trapdoor. He let out a little cry of glee and began climbing.

  “Wait a minute,” wheezed Frank. “I don’t propose to let you go higher in this building than I go myself.” And up the ladder he went.

  Taft later recalled that the two men soon found themselves hunched over at the peak of the tower, just below the roof. Then Frank got a brainstorm.

  “Say, let’s write our names up here!”

  Carving initials on trees was something he and brother Charles had done as boys back in Great Bend. The idea of leaving his mark on an entire building, his own building, pleased him immensely. And so, Woolworth and Taft set to work and left their distinctive signatures in the tower, beneath the rafters. It is probable that those names are up there still.

  Not too long after Woolworth and Taft explored the tower, Frank finally had the chance to show off his skyscraper in grand style. The aforementioned grand opening dinner list of April 1913 included engineers, bankers, scientists, attorneys, and men of letters from all over the world. Everyone who was anyone was fascinated by Frank’s Skyline Queen, then the tallest inhabited building in the world.

  When the first waves of exultation began to wear off, Frank traveled back to Paris, for a bit of rest and inspiration. He revisited several of Napoleon Bonaparte’s old haunts, and decided to design his executive office in the Woolworth Building in the style of Napoleon’s Empire Room at Compiegne. The ceiling of the room was cream white, embossed in gold. The walls were of marble. He commissioned a large desk (also a replica of one of Napoleon’s) made of polished mahogany and gilt. The top was covered in dark green Italian leather. At knee level, on the left side, a small panel, a sort of command center, was inserted to make certain his official whims were met with expediency. One of the buttons was connected to his secretary, one to his senior partners’ offices, and one simply said “boy.” Frank also purchased a life-sized bust of Napoleon and a clock owned by Napoleon himself. On the west wall, opposite Frank’s desk, hung a huge portrait of Napoleon in his coronation robes. Frank Woolworth felt it was important to impress powerful people when they came to call. Frank himself described his own Empire Room as “the handsomest office in the country, and possibly the world.”

  By erecting his Skyline Queen, with its office fit for a king, Frank had not only created the tallest and most beautiful skyscraper on earth; he had embodied, in wood and stone, his three main passions: commerce, religion, and Napoleon. In 1915, the Woolworth Building was awarded the Medal of Honor for the highest and finest office building in the world. The prestigious honor, which Frank hung prominently in his office, was given to him by the Department of Liberal Arts of the Panama Pacific International Exposition of San Francisco, California. He said later, that it was one of his finest moments as man, and merchant.

  Frank Woolworth’s lavish Empire Room in the Woolworth Building was his base of operations, and his pride and joy. The office featured a life-sized portrait of his hero, Napoleon, and a leather-and-gold desk modeled after Napoleon’s own.

  Frank was sixty-one years old when his Cathedral of Commerce was christened. He would only enjoy it for four more years, until the night he died from pneumonic complications at his Gold Coast mansion in Long Island.

  He was lucky to enjoy it for even this short period, though, and in one sense, it was the Woolworth Building that inadvertently gave Frank those four extra years of life. Early in 1913, Frank was so stressed that one of his colleagues suggested he take a pleasure trip. There was a new ship that was all the rage with society, and many of America’s biggest magnates had already booked passage. Frank gruffly declined, saying he had too much work to do on his skyscraper to be pottering around on the open sea.

  The pleasure ship in question was the Titanic.

  The Cathedral Of Commerce Through The Decades

  The Woolworth Building reigned as the tallest building in the world until 1930, when the New York Chrysler Building topped it by 254 feet. One year later, the Empire State Building took the prize, holding the title until 1971. Today, the Woolworth Building is dwarfed by the many other skyscrapers that dot downtown Manhattan, but it is still considered one of the most beautiful twentieth-century structures on earth.

  In the years following its grand opening, more than 300,000 tourists per year strolled through the Woolworth Building’s Grand Arcade, taking pictures and purchasing souvenirs. From the Observation Deck Gallery, 58 stories aloft, they viewed up to forty miles of skyline in each direction. By 1920, the Visitor’s Register Book listed names from fifty countries, and thousands of American cities and towns. Sadly, the observation deck was closed to the public during World War II, as the U.S. Navy feared that enemy spies could use it to track Allied movements. It was never reopened.

  The Woolworth Building has remained a popular address for hundreds of notable corporations who have leased offices there since 1913. One section was even used as Thomas E. Dewey’s clandestine headquarters during his racket-busting days in the 1930s.

  Unfortunately, not every part of this historic building has fared well. For example, Frank’s pride and joy, his corporate Empire Room, was long ago renovated and modernized. For a time, his desk, along with the priceless portraits of Napoleon and the one of himself, were featured in a mini-museum display on the twenty-fourth floor. As of 1998, they were being kept in storage rooms.
Many of the priceless antiques that adorned his Empire Room, and other lavishly decorated rooms of the building, were auctioned off or mysteriously vanished. The fate of the remainder of the building, including all those hand-carved “W’s” that Woolworth was so proud of, is uncertain.

  In June 1998, the name of the Woolworth Corporation was changed to the Venator Group. Soon after, the building was sold to a real estate developer, the Witcoff Group. The street-level Grand Arcade and the splendid mezzanine have been declared historical landmarks, and are, presumably, safe from demolition, but more than that is at stake. The Woolworth Building housed not only antiques, but irreplaceable documents penned by Frank himself, along with vintage glass negatives of the building, massive bound histories of the company compiled in 1949, and countless trophies and plaques commemorating company executives of days gone by. Some of these plaques have already been chopped up for scrap marble and brass. Historians and veteran employees alike are hoping that if the Venator Group ever moves its corporate headquarters out of the Woolworth Building, the remaining artifacts surviving from its rich history will be justly preserved.

  Tradition Lost … Tradition Remembered

  Like every other segment of the Woolworth story, the building, as it stood regally in glory days, lives on in the minds of the millions of people passed through its glass doors. During the centennial celebration of the company, banners flew in the entranceway and a special reproduction display of the original Red-Fronts was constructed for the lobby. Even now, not a working day goes by when groups of school children and tourists do not pause for a moment in the Grand Arcade, wide-eyed with awe at the sheer immensity and beauty of this landmark.