
The reconstruction of the Diamond (spelled “Market Square” on maps) is getting close to finished, and tables are set up under the newly built semicircular shelter.

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The reconstruction of the Diamond (spelled “Market Square” on maps) is getting close to finished, and tables are set up under the newly built semicircular shelter.


Kiehnel & Elliott, one of the few Pittsburgh firms to pick up German-style Art Nouveau and run with it, designed this firehouse, which was built in 1908. The decorations are full of the elegant Jugendstil whimsy that was Richard Kiehnel’s specialty.










Our headline is a bit of an exaggeration, but only a bit. Today Pittsburgh City Council is a group of nine representatives; but in the early 1900s, it was a bicameral circus consisting of a a select council and a common council, with the membership adding up to more than a hundred on a good day. It was notoriously corrupt, which made it very amusing that one of the chief arguments in favor of the annexation of Allegheny was the corruption of the smaller city’s government. Mayor George Guthrie had been elected on promises of reform and did his best, but he was one man against an army of petty crooks.
Here is the story of how a few civic-minded leaders decided to do something about that corruption. They succeeded—but it cost them a lot.
The author, Albert Jay Nock, was quite a character himself. He was a confessed elitist who thought that democracy could produce only the kind of corruption of which Pittsburgh was an extreme example. He was a free-trade fanatic who hated tariffs. He was accused of being anti-Jewish; his response was that it was true that he didn’t like Jews, but not because they were Jews but because they were folks, and he didn’t like folks. In this story, though, his tragic hero and shining incorruptible figure is Jewish: A. Leo Weil. Nock takes pains to point out the contrast between his disinterested civic heroism and the comfortable corruption of “Pittsburg the pious, church-going city, the focus of stanch, uncompromising North-of-Ireland Presbyterianism for the whole United States.” “Is the iron-clad militant Protestantism of Pittsburg worth having if the city has to feel its way toward elementary social Christianity under the leadership of a Jew?”
One thing even his detractors agreed on: Albert Jay Nock was an exceptionally entertaining writer. Without further introduction, then, here is as exciting a detective story as anything Dashiell Hammett could have cooked up.
From The American Magazine, October, 1910, beginning on page 808.
Read the article…
“And I want a turret,” says the client. “I want the biggest turret in the neighborhood.”
“You got it,” says the architect.






The domes of St. John the Baptist, with the skyline in the background, figure in many postcard views of Pittsburgh. So if you want to sell postcards, here is your chance. Like all Father Pitt’s pictures, these are donated to the public domain, so you can do what you like with them.









We also have pictures of the church from the other direction and some pictures of the interior.

Views of the roof of Hampton Hall, a large Tudor apartment building in Oakland designed by H. G. Hodgkins. We also have views of the entrance and courtyard, the lobby, and the front and a perspective view.











Dedicated in 1901, this was an institution created by and for Black women, though it had financial support from some of Pittsburgh’s wealthy White families. After the Home closed, it was a Baptist church for a while; but now it is vacant and slowly decaying. We hope something can be done to rescue it, because it has a fascinating story to tell—in fact, many fascinating stories.

The home was a comfortable place for women who had no family to support them: it had beautiful appointments inside and spacious grounds outside. A long article in the Pittsburg Post for August 25, 1901, described the institution and its new home, and introduced us to some of the ladies who would be living there. We’ll transcribe the whole article down below the pictures.



A commercial building on Penn Avenue with a well-preserved terra-cotta front whose distinctive Art Deco decorations were worth picking out with a long lens.






Hampton Hall is a grand Tudor apartment palace in Oakland designed by the Chicago architect H. G. Hodgkins.

A while ago one of the residents mentioned to old Pa Pitt that the long canopy that usually leads from the courtyard entrance to the street had come down for work, which—our correspondent pointed out—would make some of the previously hidden details accessible to a camera. Here, from about two and a half years ago, is how the canopy usually looks:

And here is the courtyard without the canopy:



Father Pitt ended up spending an hour or more taking pictures all over the building, and since he has so many pictures, he will split them into multiple articles to avoid wearying his visitors. Today we see the courtyard and the main entrance.









