Walton suggested five more candidates, each of whom Kennedy approved: Gordon Bunshaft, architect of the twenty-four-story Lever House on New York’s Park Avenue; Burnham Kelly, dean of the College of Architecture, Art and Planning at Cornell University; California architect and Stanford football star John Carl “Jack” Warnecke, a personal friend of President and Mrs. Kennedy; sculptor Theodore Roszak; and art critic Aline B. Saarinen, widow of the famed Finnish architect Eero Saarinen, who had died two years earlier.
All that remained was the selection of a new chairman: On March 30, 1963, the Washington Post reported CFA chairman David Finley intended to resign after twenty years. Kennedy already had a replacement in mind: William Walton. “I hope you are including your name on the list,” Kennedy wrote Walton. “If you can’t lick them, join them.” Jacqueline Kennedy sent Walton a twelve-page letter. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to be head,” she wrote. “But if you aren’t head—you are useless—as people only listen to the head—& it is all going to be involved with all the things we care about—when Jack is gone—so he won’t be able to help you—& lovely buildings will be torn down—& cheesy skyscrapers go up.”
Walton gave in, and on June 20, 1963, the president appointed him chairman of the Commission of Fine Arts.
For Washington to be a beautiful city, Walton told the Washington Post, the federal government must enlist the talents of good contemporary architects. “I hope we can influence good design in Federal buildings and also influence private buildings by setting a good example.”
Before stepping down, David Finley sent General Clarke at the District Zoning Commission a list of continuing concerns with the Watergate: There was still not enough public space, the ends of some of the proposed buildings were “too sharp” and the buildings, at approximately 130 feet, were still too high. The CFA continued to object to the “overpowering mass of buildings” and recommended a “greater variation in the heights of the buildings . . . in order to avoid the dullness of a uniform skyline.”
Back in Rome, however, the board of directors of SGI was informed the “Fine Arts Commission is favorable to the general project for the Watergate.”
IN AUGUST 1963, MORETTI RETURNED TO WASHINGTON TO unveil the revised Watergate design. At a press conference, he said he had carefully studied Washington and set out to harmonize the three striking features of the Nation’s capital: its monumental area defined by the National Mall and the Lincoln Memorial, the downtown business district and the waterfront. The location was “one of the best, if not the best, areas of Washington,” he said. His revised design let the park areas “flow” into the monumental areas by allowing pedestrians an open view of the river: Four of the five buildings in the complex would be on columns, allowing an almost unobstructed view of the Potomac. He drew a diagram in the air with his hands as he explained the curves of the building would allow almost every residence to have a view of the water. His design was dramatic and modern. The Watergate, he said, would bring to Washington “a touch of Rome.”
In the early 1960s, Americans were enthralled by anything Italian. Fellini’s La Dolce Vita and 8½ filled American movie theaters and actresses Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobrigida captivated American audiences. Oleg Cassini designed gowns for Jacqueline Kennedy, and Gio Ponti designed silverware for Reed and Barton. Spumone ice cream was becoming a popular family dessert.
On September 17, 1963, the CFA met in closed session. It was William Walton’s first meeting as chairman and David Finley’s final meeting as a member. CFA staff briefed the new commissioners on the complicated history of the Watergate, including the May 1962 meeting in New York. Walton and the new commissioners were told the Watergate developers had agreed at that meeting to limit 25 percent of their buildings to a maximum height of 130 feet.
Moretti returned a month later to present his design to the CFA. Through an interpreter, he said the Watergate site “was a very particular one, because it is in fact where the utilitarian part of the city ends and where the romantic part starts.” He showed his model and explained the key elements of the design. After Moretti concluded his presentation, Walton excused the Watergate representatives and asked his fellow commissioners what they thought.
“I was terribly impressed with the whole humanistic approach of this design,” Ted Roszak said. “I think it was a healthy note in view of the fact that we’re constantly viewing things that ignore these facts. I think it’s important not only to have an example of it, but to set an example perhaps for other architects to study and maybe emulate.”
“I like it,” said David Finley. “There’s no reason not to have them in Washington. But the mass and height is what bothers me.”
“It is the details that frighten me to death,” said Jack Warnecke.
“We can’t go along with the exuberance of detail,” said Burnham Kelly. “I’d like them to realize we would really blow the whistle on having Miami Beach come to Washington.”
Kelly asked Charles Martin, the CFA attorney, about the relationship between the commission and District planning staff. “It’s pretty bad,” said Martin. “There is an underlying feeling of resentment of any referrals of Federal agencies on what they consider to be strictly district or local matters.” Martin noted the CFA had shared its concerns about the Watergate with District planners, without impact. “What they are interested in is investment and tax returns,” explained Finley. “That is what they really care about, not appearance.”
With the possible exception of Roszak, the new members of the CFA were just as opposed to the Watergate as their predecessors. Walton sent a letter to Julian P. Green, assistant superintendent of District Licenses and Permits, outlining the CFA’s lingering concerns and recommending “a substantial reduction” in the height of the Watergate.
Watergate planners were blindsided by Walton’s letter, which they considered a violation of the agreement reached in New York in May 1962. According to the Washington Post, the developers, who were “used to fighting Italian city halls back home and unraveling red tape like spaghetti,” were readying their formal application for a building permit and ran “smack dab into a new Fine Arts Commission, strong-minded and strong-willed,” and “now manned by Kennedy appointees.” Cecchi offered to meet with the commission to address their concerns, but Walton responded there was no point arguing about “old plans they already have found objectionable.” In an editorial, the Washington Post denounced the CFA:
The Watergate architects originally cooperated with the Planning Commission’s staff to the point of collaboration, only to find themselves vehemently attacked when the management of the Commission passed into new hands. The builders thought they had reached an accommodation with the Fine Arts Commission, but now the membership of that Commission has also been changed and the new arrivals announce that there is no agreement. . . . Most builders, lacking the patience and the resources of Watergate’s backers, will not risk good architecture until they are assured that innovation does not automatically subject them to delay and political attack.
The SGI board was told nothing about problems with the Commission of Fine Arts. According to the official minutes, the board was informed only that Moretti was scheduled to meet again with the CFA on November 19, which “will be decisive for getting the permit,” and construction “will soon start as the procedures for obtaining the building permit have begun.”
On November 19, 1963, the Commission of Fine Arts met in closed session. Walton urged his colleagues to hold nothing back. The Watergate team was then invited into the room. For the first time since the project began its long journey through the bureaucracy, the Watergate delegation included Aldo Samaritani.
Samaritani, through an interpreter, said his company’s goal was to create a building that would “do credit to the standing and traditions” of SGI, a century-old company, and “contribute to the dignified image of the urban development of the City of Washington, and also would be worthy of the nation’s capital.” He intr
oduced Moretti, who, also speaking through an interpreter, offered to take one floor off each of the two buildings nearest the water, while maintaining a consistent roofline across all five buildings in the complex. He also agreed to remove the villas between the main buildings, increasing usable open space.
“We tried very hard and could not find any other solutions than the ones which you see before you,” said Nicolas Salgo. “This is the overall plan, the openness, etc.; and the forms were satisfactory, we have to assume, because nobody ever questioned it, nobody ever told us, ‘Gentlemen, go back and come back with a completely different plan.’”
“I am just going to say what I think,” Bunshaft said to Samaritani. “You have a problem, I know, as an architect, and a desire to get as many apartments in the project as you can. But you tried to just handle us. Well, we are not going to be handled.”
Milton Fischer stepped up to the podium. If the offer to scale down the buildings by removing a floor was not acceptable to the CFA, “I think the best we can do, then, is to start from scratch.”
Walton asked the Watergate developers to leave the room.
Bunshaft said the entire complex needed to have a unified height. Staggering the size of the buildings, he said, would be “awful.”
Warnecke asked Walton to clarify the agreement reached between the Watergate and the CFA in May 1962. “What do the minutes say of that meeting?”
“The minutes of that meeting are shocking,” said Walton. “They prove their point completely.”
“We are sitting here in a rather difficult position,” said Bunshaft. “I think he’s telling the truth, from what the minutes say.”
“So do I,” said Walton.
“If we really cut it down, as we are talking,” said Bunshaft, “they can’t build it economically.”
“We’ve been at it for years,” said Walton. “It’s a big civic issue which grows bigger all the time.” He was keenly aware local planners, eager to see development on the ragged industrial site, wanted the Watergate built. “We can’t ignore the fact that we live in a political situation.”
He gave a signal to invite the Watergate delegation into the room.
“Well, gentlemen,” Walton began, “we have considered it very deeply for a long, long time, as you have; and we want, as much as you, to reach an agreement and want this built as beautifully as you do. We want the same contribution to the civic landscape of Washington. We understand that you have very practical problems. We have weighed these all in. We would propose that the overall height be 140 feet with one penthouse.” The height of 140 feet was to be measured from the shoreline of the Potomac River. All earlier discussions had focused on a height of 130 feet, measured from the base of each building—the equivalent, taking the contours of the site into account, of nearly 160 feet above the waterline.
Moretti described this proposed height limit a “surprise.” Samaritani said the CFA’s position was inconsistent with the May 1962 agreement.
Salgo addressed the CFA. “You must understand that we feel very discouraged to a certain degree, because it’s less than we believe we can live with. We have to now go back home to do our homework to really find out what it means to us.”
Walton adjourned the meeting. The Watergate team filed out of the room.
The next day, Walton sent a letter to General Clarke setting forth the CFA’s position, “because the Watergate people have a marvelous facility for blurring issues to their own advantage and twisting the meanings of our Commission decisions.” Walton said the CFA position was “very generous” to the developers. All that remained was to wait for the Watergate team to respond.
TWO DAYS LATER, PRESIDENT KENNEDY WAS SHOT AND killed in Dallas, Texas. Walton spent the next week absorbed in details related to the funeral and was present, with Kennedy’s widow and immediate family, when the late president’s coffin was closed. From their offices on Connecticut Avenue, Giuseppe Cecchi, Royce Ward and the Island Vista staff watched the slain president’s funeral procession.
ON JANUARY 7, 1964, WALTER JENKINS, PRESIDENT JOHNSON’S chief assistant, reached out to William Walton and invited him and his fellow CFA commissioners to meet with the new president. The meeting was originally suggested to Jenkins by Fred Stanton, the president of CBS News, who wrote Jenkins to say a meeting would be “highly desirable, in view of the Kennedy interest in this area.” The meeting was set for the Oval Office at 11:00 A.M. on January 9.
On January 8, CFA met in executive session and commissioners were informed by staff that the Watergate developers intended to go ahead with plans for the first building with no changes, and scale down other buildings to the height of 140 feet—measured from the base of each building, however, and not from the riverline—plus one penthouse.
“In other words, they haven’t changed at all,” said Aline Saarinen. “Boy!”
Walton told his colleagues not to expect help from the District government. General Clarke had called several times pressing him to approve the Watergate. The District’s chief permit officer, Julian Green, was “very deeply sympathetic to this project, very deeply involved with developers, financier, and so forth.” But Walton said the CFA had an important ally: Charles Horsky, who would be staying on in the Johnson White House and serving as the president’s liaison for District affairs, had called two District commissioners to lobby against the Watergate as proposed. “He is going to back us 100%,” Walton reported.
AT 9:35 A.M. ON THURSDAY, JANUARY 9, THE COMMISSION OF FINE ARTS met in open session. Chairman Walton welcomed the Watergate delegation. “We have just one hour, alas!” he said. “Not because of our own wish, but the President has asked us to come and call on him.” Walton was sending a signal: You may have the ear of the District government, but we are about to have the ear of the president of the United States.
Samaritani addressed the commission. “At the last moment yesterday we had a new conversation which led to a final possibility, which is in this last plan,” he said. The revised plan removed additional floors on the balance of the complex, while retaining the first building with no changes, in order to address “the prescriptions of the Board of Zoning Adjustment.”
“I am at a point which pleases me as an architect and I feel that this has realized the requirements of the Fine Arts Commission,” Moretti said. “I feel the project can be saved.”
Salgo asked Walton for the commission’s reaction.
“You will know within the next hour,” Walton replied. The Watergate delegation left the room.
“Does anyone have any new ideas?” Walton asked.
“I think we ought to stick by what we have done,” said Bunshaft. “This thing is really ugly, and I think we shouldn’t give another hair.”
“We’ve gone as far as we can go,” said Kelly.
“I propose to give them the answer that they have not conformed to the agreement we offered to them,” said Walton. “Therefore, we have nothing more to say. This is the extent of our compromise.”
“I just think this is going to look like Atlantic City 1920, within five years,” said Warnecke.
“Sooner,” said Walton.
Walton suggested they hammer one issue—the height of the complex relative to the Lincoln Memorial. “They’re afraid of that Lincoln Memorial line.” He summoned the Watergate team back into the room.
“Our position is unchanged,” said Walton. “Thank you for coming.”
In a briefing memo to President Johnson for his meeting with the Commission of Fine Arts, Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., a special assistant to the president, noted the CFA opposed the “so-called Watergate development” and “has refused to permit the construction of a new housing development which would be higher than the Lincoln Memorial.” Walton and his fellow commissioners met with President Johnson over coffee for approximately half an hour. When they emerged from the Oval Office, Walton told reporters that Johnson was interested in obtaining “the best of modern architecture” while preserving t
he best of the past; and the CFA had Johnson’s “full support” in carrying out the policies it had formulated on behalf of President Kennedy.
Within twenty-four hours, Samaritani surrendered.
The Watergate would be no higher than 140 feet, he wrote Walton, measured from the waterline—coming in ten inches below the Lincoln Memorial. Samaritani added that he regretted any impression by the Watergate team that the developers had not been “entirely frank with you.” Walton told the Washington Post the CFA “would look favorably” on the revised plans at its next meeting.
On January 23, 1964, Congress officially changed the name of the National Cultural Center to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.
The next morning, construction crews arrived to excavate the foundation for the Watergate.
Chapter Two: City Within a City
Washington’s new Watergate community represents more than a dramatic addition to the National Capital’s skyline. It symbolizes the broad changes in character that have taken place in Washington in the last quarter century.
Since the beginning of World War II, Washington has grown tremendously in size, and at the same time has become a true “international capital.” The gracefully curving buildings of Watergate rising from the banks of the Potomac embody the sophistication and dedication of the “new Washington.”
Watergate press release, April 12, 1967
WHILE THE WATERGATE WAS STILL CUTTING THROUGH THE thicket of local and federal approvals, Giuseppe Cecchi and Royce Ward sat down in Washington with executives of the H.G. Smithy Company, a prominent local apartment leasing agency. After studying plans for the first Watergate apartment building, which included more than five hundred units offered for sale as cooperative apartments, the agents recommended reducing the number of luxury three-bedroom units and instead offering more two-bedroom and efficiency units that could be converted into three-bedroom apartments later, if demand warranted. Many potential residents of the Watergate were government employees with “modest” incomes who would be “more interested in the lower priced units.” The agents also recommended half the building be offered as rental apartments and the other half offered as cooperative apartments available for purchase. Offering five hundred co-op apartments for sale at the same time, they warned, “might be too much for the market to absorb.”
The Watergate Page 5