Tuesday, May 1, 2018

The Assassination Tour, William McKinley's Last Days

By Matthew Shoen

Associate Architectural Historian at Preservation Studios


On September 6, 1901 a pair of gunshots rang out at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo. The President of the United States collapsed and Polish anarchist named Leon Czolgosz was arrested for shooting the President. Over the next eight days people waited breathlessly, praying for the President's survival. Unfortunately, the bullet wounds, coupled with complications from an operation to remove one of the bullets which had lodged itself somewhere in the President's lower abdomen killed  President McKinley on September 14, 1901. That afternoon Vice President Theodore Roosevelt came to Buffalo where Judge John R. Hazel swore him into the office of President.

The assassination of William McKinley led to widespread mourning as well as public outrage. On the day of McKinley's funeral the infrastructure of the entire country came to a halt for five minutes to mark the occasion. While many grieved, many more were angry at the ease with which Czolgosz carried out his crime. America had suffered its third assassination in 36 years and McKinley's death prompted Congress to authorize the Secret Service to act as full time guards to the president.

In Buffalo the assassination cast a pall over the Pan-American Exposition which continued for another two months and to this day Buffalo shares a morbid bond with Dallas and Washington D.C. as the only cities where an American President has been assassinated. Many of the sites crucial to understanding the assassination and its immediate aftermath are still standing and today I decided to create a guide for anyone interested in walking through the history of William McKinley's assassination at the hands of Leon Czolgosz.

Part I: The Assassination

William McKinley was assassinated inside the Temple of Music one of the many buildings erected for the Pan-American Exposition that was later torn down.After the Exposition buildings were torn down, the land was subdivided and sold to developers and prospective homeowners. The Parkside neighborhood developed over the exposition grounds and the historic tour begins in this neighborhood. Though the Temple's exact location will never be known, the Buffalo Historical Society placed a memorial rock at 30 Fordham Drive to commemorate the temple's approximate location.
The Temple of Music

Part II: The Assassin 

Immediately after shooting President McKinley, a mob of enraged and vengeful people piled on top of Czolgosz and started to beat him senseless. Eventually police officers pulled Czolgosz out of the Temple of Music and moved to Police Precinct 13 at 346 Austin Street in Black Rock. Czolgosz's stay at Precinct 13 was brief. Within days he was moved to police headquarters and later to Auburn State Prison where he remained during his trial and where he was executed on October 29, 1901 by way of the electric chair.

Police Precinct 13 
Part III: The Operation, Convalescence, and Death of President McKinley 

Immediately after being shot William McKinley was guided to a chair in the Temple of Music and from there conveyed to the Exposition's hospital building. Here two locals, Dr. Herman Mynter and Dr. Matthew Mann attempted to operate and remove the bullet that had penetrated McKinley's abdomen. The doctors worked in difficult conditions and had to reflect sunlight into the operating room to better see what they were doing. Further their attempts to probe for the bullet yielded nothing aside from the discovery of entry and exit wounds in McKinley's stomach which were sewn up. Following the surgery, President McKinley was moved to the home of John Milburn, the exposition's president. The house, sadly demolished in 1957, was located on Delaware Avenue near Canisius High School. McKinley spent the last eight days of his life in the house surrounded by doctors, friends, and his wife Ida McKinley.

The Milburn House

Part IV: The New President 

During President McKinley's last days, Vice President Theodore Roosevelt was kept up to date on the President's health.  Because McKinley appeared to be recovering, Roosevelt took a trip into the Adirondack Mountains. When word came of McKinley's death Roosevelt hurried to Buffalo taking a special train that had been ordered for him. Arriving in Buffalo, Roosevelt went to the home of Ansley Wilcox at 641 Delaware Avenue just a few blocks away from the Milburn House where McKinley had died hours earlier.

Theodore Roosevelt Inaugural Site

After Theodore Roosevelt's impromptu inauguration William McKinley's body was moved to Buffalo's city hall and from there to Washington D.C. Like Abraham Lincoln's body, McKinley's remains traveled by train from the capital back to his hometown, arriving in Canton, Ohio on September 19th. The country moved forward with Theodore Roosevelt as its president and though several of the critical sites related to the McKinley assassination have been lost, the event still looms large in the Queen City's history.

McKinley entering the Hall of Martyrs following his assassination





1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pan-American_Exposition#/media/File:Pan-American_Exposition,_Buffalo,_1901.jpg






























Friday, December 15, 2017

Editorial: No, We Don't Drive Model Ts Anymore


By Joey Duggan, Associate Historian at Preservation Studios


The debate over how best to address the mounting concerns over the Scajaquada Expressway and Delaware Park invites contribution from all sides: the satisfaction of so many interests groups depends on which course of action the Department of Transportation decides upon. A recent editorial posted on Buffalo Rising offered a summary of the arguments voiced by some of the most active organizations involved in the discussion. The author of the post refuted these arguments, maintaining a position shared by many disgruntled motorists, at least partially on the grounds that efforts to preserve the integrity of Delaware Park “promot[e] nostalgia for a bygone era.”  In doing so, this author fell into a injurious rhetorical strategy, one that damages preservation efforts and threatens to doom bold policies to false epithets. Preservation does not simply mean saving old things because they are old. The compelling preservationist uses history as a reference in order to promote time-tested methods and structures for the benefit of the greater community. Preservation and the study of history mean looking backward, not for the sake of nostalgia, but for the sake of understanding. Placing the argument over the fate of the Scajaquada Expressway and Delaware Park as a moment in a series of trends enhances our understanding of the consequences of infrastructure.

One last glimpse at the park before Urban Renewal...
Courtesy of Buffalo Architecture and History
Advocates for a solution that promotes the interests of motorists on the Scajaquada frame the narrative as disagreement between obstructionists who relish in an idyllic past which they never experienced and rationalists who live in the modern world. Yet by positing the automobile as a pragmatic necessity, these advocates for a return to the 55 mph speed limit and a preserved infrastructure seem blind to the false paradigm upon which their advocacy depends. The nostalgia for the garden city of yesterday actually embraces principles in accordance with contemporary urban design; the fading plausibility of the city that prioritizes car traffic fails to reconcile the reality of successful urban planning in the twenty first century and threatens to doom Buffalo to perpetual decline. This dangerous dependence on the status quo ignores the empirical nightmare promised by prolonged dependance on the automobile.

Yes, the population of Buffalo today still outnumbers that of the city on which Olmsted stamped his design, but examine the numbers from the subsequent decades: after the implementation of Olmstead’s garden city design, the population of Buffalo skyrocketed. According to compiled statistics from the United States Census, it increased from roughly 117,00 in 1870 to 226,000 in 1890 and 352,000 in 1900. During the decades in which Buffalo’s population grew to equal and then surpass its present register, speculators such as Lewis J. Bennet, August Hager, and John C. Cook embraced Olmsted and Vaux’s plan by designing communities around the parks. The greenspace encouraged the establishment of so many neighborhoods that developed strong characters, such as North Park, Central Park, Parkside, and Hamlin Park. Of course a prodigious design for a park system cannot wholly account for the city’s massive growth in the fin de si├Ęcle, but ignoring the role that Olmsted and Vaux’s park system played in the meteoric rise of Buffalo shies away from a grand truth about the urban landscape. When city planners design projects to the benefit of the neighborhoods that host them, residents (and prospective developers and home buyers) recognize the harmony.


Olmsted's Garden city, c. 1896, a holistic design that allowed residents
to travel throughout the city by way of one network of unabridged greenspace.
Delaware Park was not a park within a city: Buffalo was "a city within a park." 
Courtesy of Buffalo Architecture and History
During the middle of the twentieth century, Buffalo’s population collapsed. Urban Renewal and the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956 encouraged the construction of the Kensington and Scajaquada Expressways, and the city promised downtown accessibility for suburbanites and easier transportation between the city and the airport. Using the greenspaces created by Olmsted’s garden city plan as a skeleton, the designers of these expressways superimposed their structures onto tree-lined boulevards and cut through a number of neighborhoods. The structural integrity of some of these neighborhoods mostly survived this period of Urban Renewal, but for neighborhoods to the southeast of the park like Hamlin Park, the intrusion of the expressway system threatened to drive property values down and limit mobility and access to greenspace for homeowners. The residents of Hamlin Park demonstrated resilience, not complacency, in the face of Urban Renewal. They had purchased their homes in Hamlin Park before the destruction of Humboldt Parkway; their interests do not fall into the category of selfish speculation, for they have experienced the very real effects of the Expressway System on property values. While the residents of Hamlin Park were able to take advantage of the Model Cities Program in order to avoid deterioration and maintain property values, other neighborhoods on the East Side fared much worse during the Urban Renewal period. Naturally, the Parkside Community Association is not the only interest group voicing concerns about the adverse effects of the Expressway System on their community: Hamlin Park Taxpayers Association and the affiliated Restore our Community Coalition advocate for a rethinking of the Expressway System.


No, we no longer drive Model Ts. We have power steering and V-8 engines. We also have an unfortunate addiction to the fossil fuel lifestyle, and the symptoms of our ailment include profuse carbon dioxide emissions, a degradation of general well-being, and rampant proliferation of automobile accidents, which remain one of leading causes of death in the United States. Encouraging residents to enjoy the park system on foot or on a bicycle while discouraging the overuse of the automobile for short commutes is just another one of the small steps we continue to turn up our collective nose at, but the untenable attachment to gasoline and convenience threatens to topple our quality of life. If we cannot commit the time and effort to walk through and enjoy the scenery of the park on our way to our important destinations, how will we stand up to the looming catastrophe of global climate change? Of course, reality dictates that commuters continue to have the option to drive to work, but it does not dictate that our authorities engineer our city’s infrastructure to accommodate an unwillingness to adapt to the realities of the looming century.

Ford's Model T, the first ubiquitous automobile, hit the streets 
in 1908, years after Olmsted planned Delaware Park. 
Commuters still made it to work on time.
Courtesy of Wikipedia
Advocates for a return to the 55 mph severely overestimate the efficiency of the high-speed commute. According to the department of transportation, the Scajaquada Expressway measures about 3.59 miles in its current form. Applying the basic equation for speed as a function of distance over time, the amount of time it takes to drive from one end of the Scajaquada to the other at a speed of 55 mph is about 3 minutes and 55 seconds. Given the current 30 mph speed limit, the travel time is about 7 minutes and 11 seconds. That means that the original speed limit saves motorists about 6 minutes for a round trip commute, provided they travel the length of the Scajaquada and encounter no traffic. By privileging 6 minutes worth of an individual's time over the shared benefit of a more accessible and accommodating greenspace, these advocates demonstrate an underappreciation for the physical and economic wellbeing of citizens, the vitality of the city of Buffalo, and the concerns of future generation threatened by carbon emissions.

And no, Buffalo’s winter conditions do not encourage commuters to walk or bike to work year-round, but they also pose a major risk for commuters hurdling down an expressway at white-knuckle speeds. Sacrificing some time out of the day to strap on the winter boots and get some fresh air and exercise might sound laborious, but it pales in comparison to tragedy. The Scajaquada WKBW reported on the recessed rate of accidents following the speed limit recourse, I encourage the skeptic to take a look. The top comment on the aforementioned Buffalo Rising article also provides more general statistics regarding speed limits and safety. Although the prospect of trudging through snow in the early morning might make it harder to get out of bed, the side-effects of a daily commute on foot or on a bicycle outweigh the convenience offered by the automobile. A decision to promote alternative commuting methods by creating the favorable infrastructure encourages residents to make decisions informed by a breadth of factors, not just convenience alone.

Back in 2000, Michael Lewyn published, Car-Free in Buffalo, a guide to getting around Buffalo without an automobile. Seventeen years ago, Lewyn proved that it is possible to live in Buffalo, execute the duties of a professional job, and enjoy yourself, all without a car throughout the entire year. Moreover, he argued that mitigating congestion did not play a role in the economic vitality of American cities. Based on a comparison between the cost of congestion per motorist in specific cities and the rate of population growth or decline in these cities, Lewyn drew a conclusion with resonant ties to our current debate: congestion did not prevent people from moving to growing cities. Seventeen years later, Lewyn’s anecdotal observation still holds true:


“Indeed, common sense suggests that a smooth drive and a smooth economy do not go together. When a metro area grows, new residents flood the existing infrastructure, causing congestion. But when a city withers, the few remaining residents can enjoy a fast ride through deserted streets.”


The NFTA transit system might not be perfect,
but it delivers over twelve percent of the city's
residents to their places of work everyday.
Courtesy of NYCSubway.org
If authorities devoted taxpayer dollars to revamping our mercurial public transportation system rather than to maintaining and revamping high-speed expressways, and if we could muster the energy to encourage a culture of collectivist transport, we might not have to come to blows over the fate of a highway through the heart of our crowning park. The preservation and restoration of greenspace would come as a no-brainer.

Yes, Delaware Park has its flaws. Urban Renewal severed its tree-lined connection with Martin Luther King, Jr. Park. Most residents would sooner give up their hat than retrieve it from Hoyt Lake or Scajaquada Creek. The golf course dominating the meadow limits use of that space for the occupants of a number of tax brackets. The twentieth century undoubtedly took its toll on Olmsted’s design, but these changes cannot dampen the benefits of accessible greenspace for residents. The fact is, greenspace improves the quality of life for those who have access to it in innumerable ways. Olmsted recognized this reality and strung his greenspaces through not just the most well-to-do neighborhoods in the city, but also emergent middle class neighborhoods like those mentioned above. Adding insult to infrastructural injury, the destruction of Humboldt Parkway failed to recognize the democracy of Olmsted’s placement and tore the most proximate greenspace away from the residents of these middle class neighborhoods. Any decision to further detract from the park or its accessibility threatens to further damage the welfare of residents of all of the neighborhoods bordering the park. Privileging motorists at the expense of residents whose access to greenspace suffocates as a result of the expressway system’s stranglehold on Delaware Park, especially residents to the southeast, asks authorities to perpetuate the “business as usual” methodology that promises the further stagnation of the city’s economy. People do not choose cities based on how quickly they can drive their cars from one end of them to the other; they choose where they want to call home based on the quality of life offered by the places they envision.

Olmsted's Central Park, still expressway-free.
Courtesy of http://www.centralparktoursnyc.com/
How do other cities do it? So many of the most successful cities never opted for expressways through their greenspaces in the first place. Instead, urban planners in cities like London and New York opted for less intrusive beltline expressways and intra-neighborhood public transportation systems in order to ensure accessibility. In many cases, other cities faced equally difficult decisions during the Urban Renewal period, and even cities with economies that survived the twentieth century faced devastating policies and the placement of expressways which detract from their greenspaces. But in all of the cases worth imitating, greenspaces and the value of immediate properties survived. The grandeur of places like Olmstead’s Central Park might never have survived the intrusion of a multi-lane highway through their cores. The preservation of the holistic integrity of successful greenspaces promotes economic growth by ensuring residential stability.

A painting of Frederick Law Olmsted.
Courtesy of Wikipedia
I am not a member of any of the organizations which officially oppose the Department of Transportation’s plans or those who endorse any of the proposed quick-fix solutions. It is hard to imagine that changing the value of any number or any of the words scrawled across any of the signs by the side of the road will solve a problem that has festered for decades. I do not fully endorse any single agenda, but I do live here. I love provident design. I love the park system, I love Buffalo, and I love the planet that we all have to share. It pains me to see the discourse surrounding the issue plagued by a false paradigm. Conserving greenspace is not an attempt to live in the past, it is an effort to embrace progress. Calls to curb the selfishness of advocates for a restored park atmosphere lack self-awareness: reaching for a return to high-speed normalcy and sacrificing the wellbeing of the city itself to shave a few minutes off your commute ignores the best interest of Buffalonians in the future and falls into the category of obstructionist romanticization of outdated ideology. It would be foolhardy to return to heating our houses with coal simply because that is how it was done in the past, just as it would be foolhardy to return to the Scajaquada Expressway of yesterday for the sake of the very same sentiment.

We talk about resurgence these days as if it is a given, but unfortunately, the numbers disagree: our population still shrinks every year, and the only things standing in the way of Buffalo’s deterioration are deliberate decisions and hard work. Let’s stop designing a city for people who do not live here. Let’s embrace our own historic legacy and engineer a city for Buffalonians to come.

Thursday, November 30, 2017

American Made: The Story of Buffalo's contribution to the first All American Research Telescope

By Matthew Shoen

Associate Architectural Historian at Preservation Studios

American Made is one of the phrases many people latch onto with pride. Those two words helped fuel the financial stability and economic growth my parents remember and they instilled in people a sense of possibility. There was a time however when certain products were impossible to produce in America. In the early twentieth century many technological processes were controlled by European scientists and firms that ferociously guarded their patents and scientific innovations. One under appreciated but significant product Americans could only get from Europe was optical glass. Optical glass is a special type of glass utilized in microscopes, telescopes, binoculars, and other specialized lenses. During the early twentieth century most of the world's optical glass was produced in German and optics firms like Bausch and Lomb had to go through European intermediaries in order to make their products.

This situation changed after drastically 1914 and the onset of World War I. With American optical firms cut off from their European glass suppliers, they began to experiment with optical glass production. At the same time, the Wilson administration started to grow acutely worried about America's limited supply of optical glass. Unlike nineteenth century artillery that was sited with rudimentary instruments and by eyeballing a target, the artillery pieces of World War I required advanced targeting and fire control mechanisms. Naval vessels were particularly vulnerable without quality optical sights, the days of broadsiding enemy ships from a few hundred yards away having been put to bed. America needed to become self sufficient in the event the Great War pulled the country in. With this in mind, scientists from the Geophysics Library of the Carnegie Institute and three optical firms:   Bausch & Lomb of Rochester, the Pittsburg Plate Glass Company of Pittsburg, and the Spencer Lens Company from Buffalo came together to produce the first American made optical glass. Today we will be focusing on the Spencer Lens Company, their contributions to early optical glass manufacturing, and their application of optical glass manufacturing techniques to one crucial civilian project.


The Spencer Lens Company was one of the earliest microscope manufacturers in America. Charles Spencer founded the company in 1852 in Canisteo, New York, and in 1895 the firm incorporated in Buffalo with Spencer’s son, Herbert, and Dr. Roswell Park as chief officers. Park’s influence and position as a Professor of Surgery at the University at Buffalo helped sustain the company during the early 1900s and Park promoted the company’s optical devices to laboratories, hospitals, and schools.


After the Spencer Lens Company lost its German optical glass suppliers in 1914, the company estimated its optical glass supply would only until 1916. Afraid of losing its business, the company started to research optical glass production and in 1916, built a large glass production factory in Hamburg. Located away from the smoke and grime of downtown Buffalo, the factory experimented with producing different types of optical glass. Despite setbacks and a number of technical challenges, the firm was producing high quality optical glass by the time America entered World War I. 


During the war, the Spencer Lens Company produced roughly 75,000 pounds of optical glass,  around twelve percent of the country’s wartime glass production. The company sold much of its glass to Bausch & Lomb and the Pittsburg Plate Glass Company, where it was used to make range finding instruments and other supplies for the American Expeditionary Forces. 
    


Spencer Lens Company Plant in Hamburg L.M. Potter, “Optical Glass Manufacture in America,” School Science and Mathematics 19, no. 1 (1919): 181.  

The Spencer Lens Company's ability to manufacture optical glass opened a brand new avenue of business for the company. The company started producing lenses of a size never before attempted in the United States and in 1922 these experimentations put the firm in the crosshairs of Andrew Elliott Douglass, an astronomy professor at the University of Arizona who was attempting to build a dark sky observatory on the outskirts of Tucson. 

Andrew Elliott Douglass was an astronomer who attended Trinity College in Hartford and worked at Harvard University before moving to Arizona in 1906. After joining the University of Arizona's staff, Douglass began petitioning the university to build a research observatory outside Tucson where dark sky conditions made for it possible to observe many parts of the night sky. Douglass petitioned unsuccessfully until 1916 the university received an anonymous donation of $60,000. The donor, later revealed to be Lavinia Steward, expressly gifted the money for the purpose of creating an observatory. Douglass set to work immediately and started looking for contractors to create the research telescope that would center the new observatory. He initially sought help from the European glass firms that had designed lenses for America's other observatories. However, because these firms were entrenched in World War I, they could not manufacture the lenses Douglass needed. Because of this, Douglass was forced to seek out an American optics firm willing to attempt to produce the huge reflector discs that would act as the beating heart to his telescope. After much deliberation, Douglass selected the Spencer Lens Company. 


Douglass needed a reflector discs that measured forty inches in diameter and at first it was impossible for the Spencer Lens Company to produce lenses greater than twenty-three inches in diameter, about half as large as Douglass specified. The temperature of the molten glass proved difficult to control and lenses greater than twenty-three inches developed flaws. After a number of experiments and failed castings, the firm finally manufactured a flawless disc. The forty inch reflector disc [pictured below] took nine months to cast, grind, and cool and weighed 900 pounds.


The Spencer Lens Company's Reflector Disc
































The creation of the Spencer Lens Company’s reflector disc marked an important moment in American astronomical history, as the Steward Observatory’s telescope was the first research telescope built with parts exclusively manufactured in America. The telescope was dedicated in 1923 and the Steward Observatory remained an important dark sky observatory until 1963, when light pollution from Tucson undermined the observatory’s capabilities. Despite no longer operating as an active observatory, the Steward Observatory coordinates astronomical data with a number of other American observatories and the observatory's telescope remains an important example of American innovation, and manufacturing. 


The Steward Observatory Telescope after its installation. Standing beside the telescope is Andrew Elliott Douglass.
Photo taken from Wikipedia.