
October is the month when major corporations pink up the night in honor of breast-cancer awareness.



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October is the month when major corporations pink up the night in honor of breast-cancer awareness.




Very few people pay any attention to the Manor Building. It would be a large building except for the fact that it lives against a backdrop of much larger buildings, so its blackish bulk—which was originally blue—makes little impression in the postcard view of Pittsburgh from Mount Washington. But it has an interesting history.
The building was announced in 1955; the design was by Wyatt C. Hedrick of Fort Worth.1 The owner was the Pennsylvania Railroad, which was investing heavily in real estate. Executives noticed that Pennsy stations often sat on valuable land in expensive business districts. Why should all that value go to waste when you can build upward and profit from rentals? “Utilization of the air rights over railroad property where the property is strategically located in Downtown areas is becoming more prevalent,” the Press reporter noted when this building was announced.
That was what was going on here. For a long time the Pennsylvania had had a small commuter station here—the Fourth Avenue station. It was at the mouth of the tunnel that is now used by the subway. The station itself was a small building and a couple of platforms, but the land had become very valuable. So the plan was to build three floors of parking garage, and then ten floors of offices above the garage. There would still be a station in the basement. It should have been a profitable scheme.
From the beginning, however, there seemed to be a curse on the building. “It suffered one delay after another while being built,” said a Post-Gazette story in 1961.2 “Then, after finally being completed in 1958, it was tied up for a year by litigation involving the contractor.”
By the time it was ready for renters, the building was notorious. People called it the Blue Elephant—and nobody wanted to move in.
Not until 1961 did the building overcome its jinx and begin to fill up. After that it prospered. By the next year, it was completely filled.
So there you have the story of the Blue Elephant, and now that you have heard it, perhaps you will notice the building the next time you pass it on the Crosstown Boulevard or go under it on the subway. Then you will forget it again, because it does not make much of an impression on the skyline.

In theory there is no reason to take digital pictures in black and white, since they can always be desaturated later. In practice, knowing that the picture will never have any colors in it makes one think more in terms of lines and shadows. Here are two pictures taken with a camera from the Neolithic era of digital cameras, which Father Pitt keeps set to black-and-white mode.


Built in 1901 for the W. W. McBride Paper Company, this near-skyscraper was designed by Frederick Sauer.1 A few alterations have been made, but the building still stands much as Sauer designed it.

A casual look at the building gives the impression that it has a stone base, but the effect comes from using white face brick for the lower two floors—with inset ridges to imitate cut stone—and Sauer’s favorite buff brick for the rest.
Mitchell’s on the ground floor claims to have been established in 1906, so it has been going since shortly after the building opened.

By 1923 this was known as the Bowman Building, but W. W. McBride ghost signs are still visible on the northern side.

This building on Wood Street, right across from the subway station, was probably put up in the 1880s; it appears on an 1890 map as belonging to Jonathan D. Thompson, and in 1923 still belonged to J. D. Thompson. The elaborate stone front is liberally decorated with incised patterns. We would call the style Italianate; the architect probably thought of it as Italian Renaissance.
Update: Note the comment from “Camerafiend” below, which gives us news clippings to show us that this building was designed by E. M. Butz and built in 1874. E. M. Butz is perhaps most famous as the architect of the Western Penitentiary.


The history of the Horne’s building is a complicated one. The original building was one of the last works of William S. Fraser, one of the most prominent Pittsburgh architects of the second half of the nineteenth century. Only a few years after it opened, a huge fire burned out much of the interior. Some of the original remained, but, since Fraser had died, Horne’s brought in Peabody & Stearns, a Boston firm that also had an office in Pittsburgh, to design the 1897 reconstruction. Another fire hit the building in 1900, but most of it was saved. You can see a thorough report on the fire, with pictures, at The Brickbuilder for May, 1900.

In 1922, a large expansion was added to the building along the Stanwix Street side, with the style carefully matched to the 1897 original. The new building was taller by one floor, but all the details were the same, including the ornate terra-cotta cornice.




The Horne’s clock, a later addition, is not as famous as the Kaufmann’s clock, but it served the same purpose as a meeting place for shoppers. It is once again keeping the correct time.