A long view down Baum Boulevard. This is the only remaining skyscraper in East Liberty. Another of about the same dimensions, designed by Frederick Osterling, used to stand next to it, but was torn down for a one-storey bank, which in turn was abandoned for years and then torn down for a six-storey apartment block with storefronts—East Liberty’s history as a neighborhood epitomized in one lot. The skyscraper apartment buildings designed by Tasso Katselas in the “urban renewal” years are also gone. This one, designed by Daniel Burnham, has Burnham’s usual elegant classicism. In some ways Burnham was one of the most adventurous architects the United States ever produced, but part of the secret to his success was his ability to use the most modern technology to please the most conservative taste.
Designed by Frederick Sauer, this school was called the Latimer School after Allegheny was conquered by Pittsburgh. It was built in 1898.
In the 1980s it was converted to apartments under the name “The School House.” As far as old Pa Pitt knows, this was the first major conversion of a disused school to apartments in the city, and it showed that the idea was viable.
The school was converted to apartments in the age of Postmodernism, and the designer of this canopy cleverly made it a kind of abstracted projection of the original entrance. Father Pitt caught the fabric part of the canopy on a bad hair day.
This is a big apartment complex, but it is not nearly as big as it was meant to be.
In the beginning of 1939, an apartment complex was proposed for this land. it would require zoning changes in an area that was mostly single-family houses and mansions, and when residents saw the designs by architect Clifford Lake, there was much loud protest.
“Mercer Plans Big Apartment,” Pittsburgh Press, January 12, 1939, p. 5.
It would be a huge complex of interlinked towers, nine storeys high, that would completely change the character of Negley Avenue. “It will be necessary for City Council to change the district from a Class A to a Class C zone before work can be started,” the Press reported.
It was obvious from the reaction that the plans had been far too ambitious. By May, the plans had shrunk. “Original plans for the structure have been scaled down from a nine-story 623-family apartment to the present six-story building, Mr. Lake said.”
But many of the residents nearby were still not satisfied. Give them an inch, they thought, and who knows how many ells they might take?
“You well understand,” said an attorney for the opposing property owners, “that it is impossible under the law to negotiate what kind of structure will be built after the zoning ordinance is passed.
“They propose to change the law so that hotels, educational and charitable institutions, jails and commercial businesses can be placed in a district where these people have built homes.”
It was not until a year later, in 1940, that a building permit was applied for. But the fight wasn’t over. When the zoning law was changed, residents went to court, and they won. Then came the Second World War, which was an even bigger fight than the zoning battle.
Finally, in 1946, the zoning law was changed to permit three-storey apartments in the area, and construction of the reduced complex begin in 1947, finishing in 1948.
Perhaps because of the long fight, the complex makes a surprisingly modest impression from the street. The landscaping is lush and park-like: this complex, like Gateway Center, makes good on the promise of “towers in a park,” although “towers” is a bit generous for buildings with three floors and a high basement.
The buildings themselves are fairly ordinary, not the dream towers Mr. Lake envisioned in 1939. The entrances, however, are decorated in late-Art-Deco fashion to maintain the impression that you are approaching something special.
The sides of the buildings facing the garden court have been given ridiculously narrow cartoon paste-on shutters, which do them no favors. The sides facing the side streets have no shutters and look the way Mr. Lake meant them to look.
To old Pa Pitt’s eye, this is the most charming part of the Alcoa Building, famous for introducing aluminum as a material for the shell of a skyscraper. The rest of the building still looks like a stack of 1950s television sets to him, but this projection, with its angled glass and staggered panes and weird little space-age hoop, is what he wishes the whole building looked like.
This is the lushest Art Deco of all our Art Deco skyscrapers. Graham, Anderson, Probst & White were the architects. The firm was one of the successors to Daniel Burnham’s practice, although Burnham would hardly have recognized the world of skyscraper design by 1929, when this building opened.
Streamlined modernity invades Point Breeze! Although this building has been muddled a little, enough of its distinctive details are intact that it still creates a striking impression as we walk down Thomas Boulevard. Father Pitt loves the rounded corners from the outside, though he might curse them if he lived in those corner apartments.
Source: Pittsburg Press, December 18, 1905, p. 20. “Architects Alden & Harlow have plans for a $20,000 residence to be erected at Negley and Elgin avenues for A. E. Nieman.” In Margaret Henderson Floyd’s book Architecture After Richardson, the name is spelled “Niemann,” but the name is Nieman on plat maps and in city directories, and, yes, old Pa Pitt was squirrely and obsessive enough to look it up in Polk’s. ↩︎
Now St. Paul Baptist Church. Built in 1887, it was designed by Brooklyn architect Lawrence B. Valk, whose church designs can be found all over the country. (In about 1900, Valk and his son moved to Los Angeles, where they became bungalow specialists but continued turning out the occasional church.)
The tower with its huge open Romanesque arch dominates the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Penn Avenue. After the tower, the most eye-catching thing is the porch, with its even huger arch and its crust of terra-cotta tiles.
The side entrance also gets a big arch, and even the basement door gets a stony arched porch.
