The 1812 City Hall Building - City Hall Park

 

photo by Momos

The 1862 Manual of the Corporation of the City of New York recalled, "After the Revolutionary War a notification was received from the Congress of the United States that they intended to sit in New York, whereupon the Common Council tendered to them the use of the City Hall."  The current building proved insufficient, said the article, and so "A committee was appointed to report a scheme for a new City Hall, but many years elapsed before this design was brought to a practical result."

The Common Council received a proposal in May 1800, and on May 26, 1803 the cornerstone of the new City Hall was laid "in presence of a large concourse of spectators," according to the New-York Evening Post.  The stone included the names of city officials, as well as "John M'Comb, jun. architect."  

The 40-year-old John McComb Jr. was New York's preeminent architect of the day, the son of well-known architect and surveyor John McComb Sr.  The City Hall building would be one of his masterpieces.

The New-York Evening Post wrote:

The length of the New Hall will be 216 feet, and the average depth about 100; to be built of cut-stone, the basement rusticated; the first story to be of the Ionic order, with columns and pilasters; and the upper story of the Corinthian order.  The ends and rear to be ornamented in an elegant manner.

As the building rose, in 1805 Longworth's Directory provided an update.  "The new City Hall...will be, when finished, superior to anything of the kind in America, and will vie with the public buildings in Europe.  It is situated in front of the [City Hall] Park, near Broadway."  At the time, the foundation was finished, but the directory cautioned, "it will be some years before the building will be completed."

Indeed, City Hall would not be fully completed until 1812--this despite Martha J. Lamb's writing in her 1877 History of the City of New York, "workmen had been employed upon it almost without intermission since the corner-stone was laid."  Although not yet completed, historian R. S. Guernsey noted in 1889 that it "had been occupied in part since July 4, 1811."  

It would hold, he said, "the chief city offices, and the State and city courts," adding, "In the cupola was a bell, smaller than the usual church bell, which rung on court days to summon attendance at the opening or convening of the principal courts."

Sitting at the north end of City Hall Park, the building was on the northern hem of the city.  aquatint by W. G. Wall, 1826, from the collection of the NYC Design Commission

John McComb Jr. had produced a Federal style structure that two centuries later would be recognized as superb in its proportions and elegant in its details.  Working closely with him was French-born architect Joseph F. Mangin, who is widely credited for the delicate French influences, seen both on the exterior and within the central rotunda.

Martha Lamb flatly pronounced, "It was the handsomest structure at the time in the United States."  The white marble of the front and sides had been brought from Stockbridge, Massachusetts.  Because the building sat this far north, according to Lamb, "a dark-colored stone was thought good enough for the rear of northern wall, since 'it would be out of sight to all the world.'"  Standing atop the cupula was a statue of Justice.  Not including furnishings, the structure had cost "half a million of dollars," according to Lamb.  That amount would translate to about $10.5 million in 2023.

The interiors were no less impressive.  Upon entering, Lamb described "a large circular stone staircase, with a double flight of steps upheld without any apparent support."  The rotunda was "ornamented with stucco in novel designs, and lighted from the sky with fine effect.  She described the Council Chamber as:

...richly ornamented with wood and stone carvings, and the chairs provided for the mayor the same that had been used by Washington while presiding over the first Congress in New York City; it was elevated by a few steps on the south side of the room, and graced with a canopy overhead.

Public buildings were "illuminated" for important occasions, and the first illumination of the City Hall came in 1814 to celebrate Oliver Hazard Perry's victory in the Battle of Lake Erie.  Painted glass panels, called transparencies, were placed in some of the windows.  While the effect must have been stunning, the threat of fire was immense.  Military historian Rocellus Sheridan Guernsey wrote in 1889, "On that evening the City Hall front was lighted at every window from basement to cupola.  The illumination consisted of placing several rows of lighted candles in regular order at each pane of glass in every window."  He continued...

...it consisted of a total of 1,542 wax candles and about 450 lamps, giving effect to the transparencies, and about 310 variegated lamps.  These latter were placed on the outside along the edge of the roof and about the cupola and over each window and door, and around the balcony and portico; some were in arches and others in lines appropriately and effectively arranged.

Along with the expected city offices and courtrooms, there was one department that might be surprising to 21st century minds.  The 1834 directory New-York As It Is listed the "Lost or stray children deposite" in the building.  (A "deposite" was the now-disused term for a place to commit items--in this case children--for trust and care.)

Near disaster occurred in 1858 during a pyrotechnic display celebrating the laying of the Trans-Atlantic Cable.  The City Hall dome caught fire and significant damage was caused before  the blaze was extinguished.  It may have been the necessary repairs that prompted architect Charles F. Anderson, who had designed the extension of the Capitol building in Washington, to write to The New York Times in August 1858, suggesting more encompassing renovations.  

He opined, "This structure was never a good architectural outline.  There is nothing striking or characteristic about it."  To "obviate" its defects, he suggested a long list of improvements.  Among them he proposed to raise the building to three stories and "take away that miserable porch, and put a grand projecting portico, surmounted by a pediment, running the entire height in front."  Instead, the city limited its focus to repairing the dome, its restoration headed by architect Leopold Eidlitz.

The double staircase in the Rotunda saw a steady stream of mourners who climbed to pay their respects to the deceased President Abraham Lincoln on April 24 and 25, 1865.  The New York Times reported on April 25, "The early part of the day witnessed an eager, impatient, but perfectly orderly body of people crowding on the line of the procession and around the City Hall."  The article estimated the wait at "fifteen or more consecutive hours."

Lincoln's bier in the Rotunda.  Currier & Ives, 1865, from the collection of the Indiana State Museum

A second U. S. President would lie in state in the Rotunda 20 years later.  On August 7, 1885 the casket of Ulysses S. Grant arrived in New York and was brought to City Hall.  It was placed at the foot of the staircase.  New Yorkers filed past from 6:00 that morning until an hour after midnight.

A photograph "made by electric light" by Hill Bros. of Grant lying in state was sold as a cabinet card souvenir.  from the National Park Service Manhattan Historic Sites archive.

In 1892 a serious threat loomed.  King's Handbook of New York City said, "The City Hall has been in its time the finest piece of architecture in the country, but it is surpassed now by many buildings of more imposing structure...A new city hall will be one of the architectural attractions of New York in the future."  The article noted that a push was ongoing to build a modern City Hall on the site of the old Crystal Palace known as Reservoir Square (today's Bryant Park).

By the time this photograph was taken in 1886, the downtown Manhattan had engulfed City Hall.  The brownstone back, never expected to be seen, had by now been painted to simulate marble.  from the collection of the New York Public Library.

On February 19, 1893 The New York Times weighed in, agreeing that "the general feeling is undoubtedly that the old building 'must go,'" but stressing that "its architectural and historical value entitle it to preservation and to re-erection elsewhere."  (The very idea of historic preservation at the time, not related to battle sites or homes of important figures, was essentially unheard of.)

Thankfully, Mayor Abram Hewitt proposed preserving the 1812 building in sito and erecting a municipal building nearby.  His successor, Mayor Franklin Edson, agreed, refusing to "mar" the existing building and its proportions by altering and enlarging it.  Construction for the current Municipal Building began in 1907.

The venerable City Hall building was given several brush-ups.  The City Council Chamber was renovated in 1904 by William Martin Aiken  (it had originally be reworked in 1897 by architect John H. Duncan); and the firm of Bernstein & Bernstein redecorated the Governor's Room in 1905-1907. Unfortunately, their work was so abhorrent to most that the space was immediately restored to its original by Margaret Olivia Slocum Sage.  

The Governor's Room in 1830.  drawing by Charles Burton from the archives of the NYC Design Commission

The Governor's Room as is appears today.  image via the NYC Design Commission

In 1966 the Landmarks Preservation Commission designated City Hall an individual landmark, and ten years later designated the Rotunda an interior landmark.  In doing so, the commission described the Rotunda as "a sensitively designed and beautifully proportioned interior space, a notable feature in a building of great elegance and serene dignity."

photo by MariekeSlagter

In 2010 renovations being done in the basement turned up major deterioration of the infrastructure.  A comprehensive restoration project was initialized to stabilize the structure.  The five-year undertaking expanded to the conservation and documentation of the artwork, including the City Council Chamber ceiling and the mural series by Taber Sears executed in 1903.

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The 1886 Potter Building -- Park Row and Beekman Street

photo by paperboy1005--notfortourists.com

At around 10:00 on the night of January 31, 1882, the editor of the New York Observer, Samuel Irenaeus Prime, and his son Wendell, the associate-editor, were at work in the Potter Building (also known as the World Building) at 37 Park Row.  Somewhere in the building that was mainly occupied by printing firms and newspaper companies, a fire broke out.  Fueled by flammable liquids like ink and printing press grease, the conflagration quickly spread.  Prime and his son escaped down the stairs while Presbyterian minister Charles Augustus Stoddard, who also worked at the newspaper, rushed to secure records and close the safe.

Trapped, Stoddard inched his way along the Observer sign on the outside wall to an adjoining building.  Two other men dropped from a signboard at the fourth story and were caught by firefighters.  But before the fire was extinguished, twelve people were dead and the building gutted at a cost of $400,000.

The flames had engulfed the structure so quickly that the Fireman’s Herald wrote that it, “made itself notorious the country over for burning up in the shortest time on record.”  Its wealthy owner, Orlando Bronson Potter, was called before a grand jury.

Potter immediately set out to rebuild.  He commissioned architect Norris Garshom Starkweather (whose offices had been in the burnt-out building) to design its replacement.  Within two weeks of the fire, Potter announced he would build the largest office building in New York and that it would be “absolutely fireproof inside as well as outside.”

Estimated to cost $700,000, it would be constructed of “the best bricks, pressed bricks, terra cotta, and iron,” according to The New York Times.  “The roof and floor beams will be of rolled iron, and all floors, except the basement, will be laid on iron girders.”

Ground was broken in April 1883 for the eleven-story building.  For the first time in New York, the hidden structural steel was fireproofed by ornate terra cotta.  The Fireman’s Herald praised the effort, saying, “the new structure will be famous as the result of much thought and many experiments in order to put up an ideal fireproof building, and it will endure for ages.”

Construction was not without its problems, however.

In 1884, with construction well underway, the provider of the pig iron, Hugh W. Adams & Co., went bankrupt.  “The failure is the result of the individual embarrassment of Mr. Adams in undertaking to carry out the iron work for the new potter Building,” reported The New York Times.  That same year, the bricklayers’ union struck, and a year later the painters and carpenters working on the building went on strike, further slowing progress.

By the middle of 1885, the cost of construction had risen to $1.2 million–an astronomical amount at the time.  Finally, in June 1886, the building was complete.

Street car tracks run down the middle of the streets and horse-drawn drays line Park Row near the newly-completed Potter Building -- photo NYPL Collection

Starkweather had stressed the verticality of his design, resulting in a structure that soars skyward.  He married Queen Anne, Colonial Revival, Renaissance Revival and Greek Revival styles, resulting in what the AIA Guide to New York City would a century later dub an “elaborately ornate confection in cast and pressed terra cotta.”

The Potter Building in 1895 - King's Photographic Views of New York

In 1899, the History of Architecture and the Building Trades of Greater New York disagreed somewhat, saying that “as a design [it] is unusual and perhaps excessive in detail, but has great interest in the disposition of its masses.”

The Press occupied the first floor in 1895 -- King's Photographic Views of New Yor

Sitting at the corner of Park Row and Beekman Street, the Potter Building anchored Newspaper Row.  Its location, convenient to City Hall, made it a favorite site for the offices of the city newspapers.  The New York Observer immediately moved back in, along with other newspapers including the Republican Party’s favorite The Press.  There were 200 offices in the building.  Tenants not associated with journalism included the Otis Elevator headquarters, the printing paper manufacturer Adams & Bishop Co., The American Art Papers, and the New York Architectural Terra Cotta Company.

"Newspaper Row" in 1936 with the Potter Building at far right -- photo NYPL Collection

Orlando Potter, who was not only active in real estate but a well-known politician, occupied offices in the new building until his sudden death in 1894.  Potter’s real estate holdings alone were estimated at about $6 million, yet he left no will nor instructions on how to distribute his wealth.

In April of 1929, A. M. Bing & Co. purchased the building.  It was taken over in foreclosure by the Seamen’s Bank for Savings in 1941 for $500,000.  A year after the Federal Public Housing Authority leased one-and-a-half floors in 1944, a syndicate headed by Borrok, Steingart Borrok bought the building for $775,000.

In the socially-turbulent 1960s, the Potter Building was home to the Congress of Racial Equality.

A century after the Potter Building became a major part of Newspaper Row, a two-year conversion to residential use was begun in 1979.

photo streeteasy.com

Today Orlando Potter’s ground-breaking fireproof structure is a striking fixture in the City Hall neighborhood.  Born of a disastrous conflagration that resulted in the rewriting of fire laws for new construction, it is the first product of those regulations.

In designating it a landmark, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission praised “some of the handsomest brickwork in New York City” and gratefully noted, “its original design is nearly intact.”

The Surrogate's Courthouse / Hall of Records -- 31 Chambers Street

By the second half of the 19th Century the need for a larger, more secure hall of records was evident. The population of Manhattan had grown from 61,000 in 1800 to 942,000 in 1870. Necessarily, as the population burgeoned so did the amount of paper records to be archived. In 1888 the Sinking Fund Commission was formed to erect the new facility.

Concurrently, a plan to demolish the elegant 1803 City Hall was initiated and John R. Thomas won the commission for its replacement with an exuberant Beaux Arts design. Thomas was a prolific architect credited with designing more public and semi-public buildings than any other designer in the country, including armories, the old Stock Exchange and more than 150 churches.

Public outcry against the demolition of City Hall was immediate and strong. Subsequently the State Legislature voted down a new City Hall and, as compensation, the commission for the new Hall of Records was given to Thomas.

photo New York Public Library collection

It would be nearly a decade before the city obtained the land for the new building. The Board of Estimate and Apportionment met on December 16, 1897 to award the building contract to John Pierce, who had bid $1,997,900. The board estimated the total cost to be $2.2 million.

By the time the building was finally completed that figure would rise to $8 million.

Thomas’ plans, a gentle re-do of his City Hall design, were approved by an advisory committee of William E. Ware of Columbia University’s Architectural School, noted architectural critic Montgomery Schuyler, and Metropolitan Museum trustee Henry G. Marquand. It was a grand French Beaux Arts building in keeping with the new City Beautiful Movement.

The theory of the movement held that monumental and classical buildings would not only beautify the urban area, but citizens who were surrounded by civilized structures would behave in a civilized manner. Thomas’ Hall of Records would be monumental beyond imagination.

A lavish mansarded giant constructed of granite from Hallowell, Maine (the same quarry used for the stone of the State Capitol building), it would be embellished with sculptures on three levels. Groupings closest to street level would depict “various races and nations,” the second tier would be portraiture of distinguished city fathers, while the uppermost sculptures would be allegorical.

The Hall of Records 1907

 As sumptuous as his exterior design would be, the interior was doubly-so. Opulence was created with yellow Siena marble, mahogany woodwork, and an intricate arched mosaic ceiling in an Egyptian motif. White marble sculptural groupings of “The Consolidation of Greater New York” and “Recording the Purchase of Manhattan Island” would sit above the east and west doorways.

The inlaid foyer floor would be of pink Tennessee and Blue Beige marble, illuminated by a bronze chandelier and wall sconces; even the radiator covers would be bronze , topped by spread eagles atop globes.

Photo New York Citywide Administrative Services

If the visitor was struck by the foyer, he would be awed by the lobby where a grand baroque split staircase rose two floors to a balustraded level. A century later, author Bill Harris in his “One Thousand New York Buildings” said “Want to see the Paris Opera? Step into the lobby right here.” Thomas’ interior design was one of lavish theatricality.

Ground breaking did not occur until 1899 and the cornerstone was laid in April 13, 1901. Shortly thereafter, on August 28, John R. Thomas died unexpectedly. Reaction on the part of the new Tammany-backed Mayor Robert A. Van Wyck was immediate.

Photo New York Citywide Administrative Services

He gave the job of completing the project to architects Horgan & Slattery, also connected to Tammany Hall. The firm recommended various alterations to the plan, which The New York Times grumbled was “horganizing and slatterifying” the design.

On April 28, 1902 the first of the eight mammoth granite columns was hoisted into position. Carved in a single piece, it was 36 feet high, 4 feet two inches in diameter and weighed 41 tons. Transporting the monolith from Pier 1 took a team of 21 horses.

Construction dragged on for eight years during which time the grandiose plans for the 54 separate sculptures threatened the completion deadline. The Fine Arts Association and then the Municipal Art Society gave their opinions, chiming in on materials (bronze, marble or granite) and subject matter. “The material used is of the greatest importance, very naturally,” reported The Times. “Marble will weather, and is easily broken, but granite also is not proof against the folly and malice of boys and degenerates, of fanatics and drunken men. Bronze will stand the wear and tear of the crowds who will pass the Hall of Records, and will always contain a sprinkling of those imbeciles who knock off a finger or toe in sport or to keep as a souvenir.”

Thomas had given the commissions to two sculptors only, H. K. Bush-Brown for the roof sculptures and Philip Martiny for the rest; far too much work for the allotted time. Martiny did his work at the Hallowell, Maine quarry where the stone for rest of the building was cut. As work progressed, delays were caused when his plaster casts for the statue of former Mayor Hewitt were rejected four times. Finally on December 8, 1905 the finished 12-foot, four ton statue was completed and prepared for hoisting into place on the cornice at the sixth floor. When the sculpture was about two and a half feet from the cornice, the main boom of the rigging snapped, sending the statue plummeting to the sidewalk where it smashed.

Luckily, because of the long construction process, a new mayor took over and most of the changes to Thomas’ original design were reversed. Nevertheless, as city workers began moving in to their offices in 1906 they were shocked to find that the gray and white marble on the upper floors was actually plaster.

The Times explained “The presence of the plaster where the marble ought to be is explained by the fact that the hall was planned in one administration, replanned in another, and finally planned in a third.” No graft was involved, the newspaper said. Nevertheless, “…the imitation work is very poorly done indeed, and, though the hall has been opened but a few weeks, is already beginning to show signs of wear.”

Amid the controversy, Horgan & Slattery publically admitted the substitution of materials was a mistake.

In 1961 when Centre Street was widened, the two sculptures flanking the entrance were removed to the front of the New York County Courthouse at 60 Centre Street. A year later the Hall of Records was renamed The Surrogate’s Courthouse.

The building that the Work Progress Administration’s “New York City Guide” pronounced in 1939 “New York’s best example of eclectic baroque style used in French nineteenth-century municipal buildings,” was deemed a New York City landmark in 1966. A decade later the interiors were also given landmark status.

When opened, the Hall of Records was called “the most Perisian thing in New York” and a century later it could still hold that designation.

Jacob Mould's 1871 City Hall Park Fountain

Photo wirednewyork.com

After completion of the elegant City Hall in 1812, the large triangle of land fronting it was used only partially as a public park.  The city's first art museum, a circular building called The Rotunda was built here six years later and various other structures came and went.

The opening of the Croton Aqueduct in 1842 brought the city’s water supply from upstate.  A large fountain was soon installed in City Hall Park that spewed water 50 feet in the air.  It was at or near the fountain that public gatherings concerning the outbreak of the Mexican American War in 1846 were held, where Civil War recruitment drives were administered in 1862, and where barracks housed Civil War troops waiting to march off.

After the war, in 1867, the city erected a post office on the southern tip of the park, and in 1870 razed the Rotunda.  The following year Jacob Wrey Mould was commissioned to design a new fountain.  Mould, who would become chief architect of New York City Parks, was busy at the time co-designing elements of Central Park with Calvert Vaux.

His creation replaced the 1842 fountain.  Patently Mould in design, it was a Victorian extravaganza worthy of its high profile position in front of City Hall.  A granite and bronze central column sat within a 30-foot-square granite basin, which spilled into four semi-circular pools at its sides.  Four ornate gas-lit “candelabra” anchored the corners, and a gilt finial surmounted both the column and the lamps.

from the collection of the New York Public Library

The park and Mould’s fountain were enjoyed by tourists and New Yorkers alike.  Throughout the 1870s people crowded into the park for free concerts.

After World War I, however, civic taste turned from ornate Victorian designs to heroic allegorical monuments.  The Jacob  Wrey Mould fountain was disassembled in 1920 and shipped to Crotona Park in the Bronx.  Two years later a controversial fountain by Frederick William MacMonnies was installed.  The sculptural grouping, called Civic Virtue, depicted a muscular, nude male holding a sword, stepping over the prone figures of two females.  The grouping was little admired by female New Yorkers.

Amid the protests, Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia had the fountain dismantled and moved to Queens.  City Hall Park was without a fountain until 1972 when a new fountain, the gift of philanthropist George T. Delacorte, was installed.

During his second administration, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani became disenchanted with the rag-tag condition of City Hall Park and initiated a full-scale renovation and restoration.  In 1999 the project, which would cost nearly $35 million, was underway.  Pavement, which by now covered the park, was ripped up and grass and plantings reintroduced.  The heavy, cast iron fence was restored and elements replicated where necessary, and plans were laid for the return of the Jacob Wrey Mould fountain.

Conservations Solutions, Inc., the firm hired to restore the fountain, was faced with a daunting task.  During its years in the Bronx, the fountain's bronze elements had been stolen for their scrap value.  Where original carved capstones and copingstones had been taken or lost, blank gray stone blocks had been used as replacements.  For years, city maintenance workers had covered spray-painted graffiti with layer after layer of white paint.  

Carefully, Conservations Solutions removed the white paint and the underlying graffiti without damaging the original surviving finishes.  All missing granite, bronze and ceramic elements were reproduced using Mould’s original sketches and early photographs.  Not only were the fountain operations restored to the 1871 plans, the restored lamps burn gas again as they did during those summer concerts 140 years ago.

In 2000, the fountain restoration received the award of Best Park Restoration from the New York City Department of Parks.

The Abandoned 1904 City Hall Subway Station

Early postcard of City Hall Station - author's collection

Rafael Guastavino's tiled arch construction was not a new idea in 1900; actually it had been used in Europe since ancient times.  He simply rediscovered and improved it, yet earning himself a powerful reputation in doing so. 

Guastavino, born in Valencia, Spain and trained as an architect in Barcelona, immigrated to the U.S. after he earned a medal of merit at the Philadephila Centennial Exposition in 1876.  He founded the Guastavino Fireproof Construction Company and marketed his tiled arch construction as the "Guastavino Tile Arch System."

His construction designs fit well with the popular Arts and Crafts movement of the period.  Interlocking terra cotta tiles were installed in layers of mortar which enabled him to create strong arches with no visible means of support.  Although the clay tiles were, individually, fragile; together they were incredibly strong -- often compared to the inherent strength of an eggshell.

While Guastavino was perfecting his tile construction, New York City was planning a subway system.  Not only could the 19th Century elevated trains no longer efficiently move the multitudes of New Yorkers, they spewed ashes and soot and were noisy.  Through the Rapid Transit Act of 1894 the State had authorized the city to build and run a subway.  Six years later things got underway with the formation of the Interborough Rapid Transit Company.

At what would become the City Hall Station, Mayor Robert Van Wyck put foot to silver shovel and formally initiated construction on the subway system.   Architects George Lewis Heins and Christopher Grant LaFarge were commissioned to design the stations which were functional, white-tiled, nearly-claustrophibic spaces with individual mosaic themes or, in some cases, ornate tiles proclaiming the stations.

Except for City Hall Station.

The new mayor, George B. McCllellon, was explicit.  He wanted it to be a showplace.  "My station under City Hall," he insisted, "will be more beautiful than the rest."  Calling on Rafael Guastavino, Heins and LaFarge incorporated his graceful soaring tiled arches, creating a vast, elegant station.  Twelve brass chandeliers illuminated the earthy ochre, green and black Arts and Crafts tiles.  Nine stunningly ornate leaded glass skylights pierced the ceiling of every fourth bay.  On the opposite wall from the platform large bronze plaques honored the architects, the engineers and the politicians responsible.

As the system was being readied for opening, the Interborough Rapid Transit described the station.  "It might readily have been supposed that the limited space and comparative uniformity of the underground stations would afford but little opportunity for architectural and decorative effects.  The result has shown the fallacy of such a supposition."

At 1:00 on October 27, 1904 ceremonies marked the opening of the New York City Subway at the City Hall Station.  After customary speeches, Mayor McClellan personally turned the silver key and acted as  motorman, transporting the dignataries far uptown to the 137th Street Station.  At 7:00 that evening, paying passengers (admission was by five-cent ticket) were admitted.

According to The New York Times that day, "The rush for tickets to the opening continued unabated yesterday, and scores of demands had to be refused, with the result that the applicants went away declaring they had been slighted."  More than 7,100 paying passengers entered the City Hall Station that evening; a fraction of the system-wide horde of New Yorkers eager to ride the new system.

The City Hall Station was unusual in that, because it was situated at the beginning of the loop where trains would swing around to head back north, its platform was tightly curved.  Eventually lack of use and this design element would doom the station.

photo NYPL Collection

During World War II the beautiful skylights were blacked out for security purposes, eventually becoming covered over.  Then, because the nearby Brooklyn Bridge Stop was more convenient, fewer and fewer passengers were using the elegant station.  In 1945 the Transit Authority shut down the City Hall Station, demolishing the ornamental kiosks and sealing the entrances under concrete slabs.  The tiled arches and brass chandeliers were thrust into tomb-like darkness and the station was essentially forgotten.

Any hope that the City Hall stop would be resurrected was smashed when modern train cars became too long for the sharp curve of the platform.  The wide gaps created between the platform and cars would be unsafe and logistically unreasonable to attempt to correct.

In 1995 plans were made to rehabilitate the stop as an annex to the Transit Museum.  Over $1 million was granted by the federal government and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority to restore the space and, for awhile, was opened for tours.  However, in 1998 after terrorist bombings around the globe, Mayor Rudolph Guiliani shut down the space again in concern over the accessibility to the area under City Hall.

Today tours are again conducted, although sporadically.  While some of the skylights have suffered severe damage, some are surprisingly intact.  There is some water damage and the once elegant chandeliers are covered in decades of gray dust.  Yet the grandeur of Mayor McClellan's showpiece is still evident over a century after its opening.