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The Story Behind the Towers

The Port of New York Authority came into being precisely to be the agency that would build that tunnel. They were new things in America, these “authorities” (the word came from Britain, where it dated to Queen Elizabeth I’s time), premised on the consanguine notions that, first, there existed a public need for certain construction projects that private enterprise would be loathe to undertake, and, second, that the planning and execution of such projects had to be insulated from both interstate conflict and the vulgar give-and-take of clubhouse politics. An authority would have a staff of professional experts, culled from the then-emerging specialized graduate schools in fields such as urban planning, and these experts, rather than factotums of the political machines, would devise disinterested proposals. It would also have a board of trustees to set policy. In theory at least, staffers and appointees to these coveted posts would take their public trust seriously, and act, in that reformist, Wilsonian way, in the public interest.

It was in this spirit that on April 30, 1921, the Port Authority came into being. It was granted dominion over a newly created “Port District” comprising all or parts of seventeen counties, including the entirety of New York City. It was given the power to issue bonds to acquire or construct the projects it deemed necessary to its mission. The legislation creating it, passed by both states’ legislatures, instructed that the authority’s first priority should be to prepare a comprehensive solution to the rail freight problem—that is, a cross-harbor rail freight tunnel. And, in good progressive fashion, the authority set about doing exactly that. Within seven months, its planners had proposed a comprehensive rail system for the region whose main feature would be an underwater tunnel across the harbor from Bayonne, New Jersey, to Sunset Park, Brooklyn. It would be financed by a bond issue and paid for through fees the authority would charge its users. There were piers right there in Brooklyn for sending goods overseas, and existing rail track that could carry merchandise to Long Island and to points north. The metaphorical bridge would be complete.

Eighty-one years later, the tunnel still doesn’t exist. To make a very long story very short, three things happened. First, the proposal inevitably got entangled in politics. New York City’s mayor at the time the proposal was laid down, John Hylan, was a Tammany man with little interest in a public weal that had no room for a pinch of honest graft for contractors and others who were supporters of his. He proposed a competing plan that won enough backing to keep the authority from being able to act on its proposal for several months. Second, the railroads were having none of it. They had established their own rail systems, on which they made handsome fees, and their interest in sharing a tunnel whose usage tariffs would go to a government agency was scant indeed. Cohen had foreseen this problem and had sought language in the legislation creating the authority that would give it the power to force the railroads to cooperate, but the railroads, with powerful lobbies, had won that fight. While the proposal’s momentum was thus delayed, the newspapers and civic leaders on both sides of the Hudson began clamoring for the Port Authority to turn its attention to another growing transportation problem, which is the third reason the tunnel was never built. It was the 1920s. It was the age of the car.

The Holland Tunnel had opened in 1927 (built by an independent commission and ceded to the authority in 1930), but it became congested immediately. Progress on further crossings was delayed by disputes over whether a bridge should go here or there—in 1920, the great bridge engineer Gustav Lindenthal had proposed a mammoth bridge from Weehawken to 57th Street, with sixteen lanes for cars and twelve rail tracks and vaulted towers that would have risen to the barely conceivable height of 825 feet, about the same as a seventy-five-story building (by comparison, the Brooklyn Bridge’s towers are 271 feet high). Mid-Manhattan business interests, skittish about the certain traffic congestion, opposed the plan, and the authority rejected it.

Lindenthal’s protégé, Othmar Ammann, had more success. As the Port Authority’s chief bridge engineer in its early years, Ammann oversaw the opening of four spans in quick succession. First came the Outerbridge Crossing and the Goethals Bridge. Both were opened in June 1928 and linked New Jersey to Staten Island over the narrow “kills,” a Dutch word for a kind of channel, that separate the two. The Manhattan newspapers were piqued that the authority’s first two projects should have done nothing to address directly the problem faced by commuters coming into Manhattan; the reason is that condemning the land required for the approaches on both sides was a far less complicated task than trying to do the same in Manhattan. To prove the point, a third New Jersey–Staten Island connection, the Bayonne Bridge, was completed in November 1931.

But by then no one was complaining, because the authority had quieted critics the month before with the completion of a project it had conceived of four years prior. On October 25, Ammann’s glorious George Washington Bridge opened to traffic. The finest testimonial, I believe, is Le Corbusier’s: “Here, finally, steel architecture seems to laugh.”4 But it is hard to imagine what words could have fully captured the awe with which 1930s eyes must have looked upon this muscular jewel of naked, geometric steel. Indeed, its stark beauty took even some of its planners by surprise—the Port Authority had enlisted Cass Gilbert, he of the Woolworth Building and the United States Supreme Court house, to come up with a design for encasing the steel frame in concrete and granite, but when people saw the frame, they liked it just the way it was, and Gilbert’s skin was left on the drawing board.5 On top of all that, it was brought in below budget. The Port Authority could still be accused of failing in its central mission. But what a way to fail this was!

3.

Now came the Depression. The bond market was shaky, but the Roosevelt administration backed bonds to start work on the Lincoln Tunnel, whose first tube opened in 1937. In fact, Franklin Roosevelt, as governor of New York, had praised the authority as “a model for government agencies throughout the land”6 and had used it as a partial prototype for the Tennessee Valley Authority and other New Deal agencies. Roosevelt’s admiration did not, however, prevent him from trying, as president, to augment the federal till by imposing a duty on tax-exempt bonds, which the authority depended on to finance its projects. Improbably enough, the authority managed to defeat the administration, largely through the efforts of a thirty-five-year-old staff attorney who took the then-extraordinary initiative of organizing a nationwide co- alition of local municipalities and authorities to beat back the scheme. Thus did Austin Tobin announce himself to the world.

New Yorkers are better acquainted, through Robert Caro’s efforts, with Robert Moses. But Tobin left nearly as permanent a mark on their lives. He took over the leadership of the Port Authority in 1942 at age thirty-nine and immediately set about bringing the agency up to date. He modernized Newark Airport. He took over operation of LaGuardia Airport, which the city had built in 1939. He even defeated Moses in one of their early direct confrontations, wresting control of Idlewild (now Kennedy) Airport; then, Idlewild was little more than some runways and a few spartan hangars where passengers would have been lucky to find a newspaper or pack of cigarettes. But Tobin directed that all international air traffic should operate out of Idlewild and envisioned that it would one day be a far more important facility than LaGuardia.7

Empire on the Hudson, by Jameson W. Doig, a professor of politics and public affairs at Princeton University, comes most to life when it is chronicling the great era of Tobin’s accomplishments. Doig’s style is academic and his prose dry—he hides some fascinating information and revealing quotes in footnotes that run to nearly 150 pages. Still, Doig’s precision and thoroughness are valuable. His passion for the role of public building in urban life, and its often overlooked importance as a manifestation of liberalism’s achievements, is evident. He is good, too, if perhaps a little too generous to the authority, on the central tension that inhered in the authority’s nature, namely: its ethos of disinterested professionalism had a good side, enabling the agency (though not in the case of the freight tunnel) to rise above the kind of parochial squabbling that habitually kills large public projects. But it had a bad side, too, which was that such insulation permitted the authority to become arrogant and unaccountable to anyone.

Doig’s narrative ends in 1950, excepting a quick survey of the intervening years in an epilogue. This is a pity, because I would like to have read his detailed account of what happened in those years (he writes with a detachment that gives him an authority over the subject matter). By the time Doig’s story ends, most of the authority’s great public infrastructure projects had been built. It was a respected, and, thanks to its toll collections and the rents it collected at airports, a very rich agency, moving its chess pieces around—most notably, moving the ports out of the city to Newark and Elizabeth—but not undertaking prodigious new projects for public benefit. It was, in some sense, a bored agency, guarding its surpluses—$64 million by 1958—and its top-flight bond rating, but looking around for something big, and lucrative, to spend its money on.

New York City’s fiscal crisis of the 1970s was nearly twenty years away. Conventional wisdom holds that the crisis was chiefly the result of excessive social-welfare spending, and that is partly true. But other priorities that would contribute to the crisis—heavy borrowing to finance a large construction boom, deemphasizing the city’s industrial job base—were already being bruited, if quietly at that point, among the men who had the power to decide what the city’s future would hold. In that future there was to be little room anymore for port commerce, or industrial activity, or manufacturing—in November 1959, there were 991,000 manufacturing jobs in the city; by the time of the fiscal crisis, that number was 553,000; today it’s under 300,000.

Most people are under the impression that this happened because of, in one common phrase, “inevitable market forces,” among them lower manufacturing costs in the Southern states and abroad. Those forces played an undeniable role in the diminution of New York’s blue-collar job base. But to a considerable extent, the city’s manufacturing decline was planned by people who believed that the city’s future would be bound up in finance, insurance, and real estate. That future would depend on erecting more office space—on expanding the midtown central business district, and creating new ones elsewhere. And that, in turn, would depend on corporate leaders being able to sell politicians on the idea that chasing blue-collar enterprise out of the city and constructing commercial real estate was vital to the city’s survival; that such an emphasis was, in itself, a new public good; that these offices were the post-industrial city’s equivalent of a new international airplane terminal, or Othmar Ammann’s bridges; and that government, to be blunt, should foot the bill. And it was in this spirit that David Rockefeller came knocking on Austin Tobin’s door.

—This is the first of two articles.

  1. 4

    See Paul Goldberger, The City Observed: A Guide to the Architecture of Manhattan (Vintage, 1979), p. 325.

  2. 5

    Goldberger writes that Gilbert’s encasement was rejected “for reasons of economy” (The City Observed, p. 325); Angus Kress Gillespie tells the above story (Twin Towers, p. 29), which I have also read in various other forums. Whatever the case, they made the right decision.

  3. 6

    See Doig, Empire on the Hudson, p. 2. FDR spoke the words at the dedication of the George Washington Bridge.

  4. 7

    Caro, in The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York (Knopf, 1974), largely concurs with Doig’s account of the Idlewild fight (pp. 766–767). He also notes, however, that afterward, “every ensuing confrontation” between the Port Authority and Moses’s Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority “had resulted in a Moses victory” (p. 921); in that passage, he goes on to describe the way the two agencies worked in concert on the build- ing up of the interstate highway system within the city. A crucial link in that chain was the TBTA’s 1964 Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, joining Staten Island and Brooklyn, which the Port Authority helped back because the resulting higher traffic volume increased toll collections on the authority’s three New Jersey–Staten Island crossings by $5.5 million a year (p. 926).

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