225: Through decades and change Cathedral endures, develops
October 11, 2012
When John G. Bowman arrived at Pitt in 1921 to begin his new job as chancellor, he couldn’t find the campus and neither could his taxi driver.
Sixteen years later, Bowman laid the final cornerstone into the ground of the Cathedral Commons, finishing a long, tumultuous project that began two months after he became chancellor. The 42-story Cathedral claimed the title of being the tallest academic structure in the Western Hemisphere, at 535 feet tall and a noticeable feature of the University.
Despite the numerous setbacks due to the Great Depression and stock market crash, the building — which turned 75 years old this year — fulfilled Bowman’s wildest dreams.
“They shall find wisdom here, and faith — in steel and stone, in character and thought — they shall find beauty, adventure, and moments of high victory,” he said during construction.
Uncertain ground
Bowman hired Philadelphia architect Charles Zeller Klauder, an expert in Gothic design and an accomplished designer of collegiate buildings — with previous works at Yale, Princeton, Cornell and Duke. Both men sought to evoke a triumph — but there was initial dissent.
“It was neither a temple, nor an expression of courage,” Bowman said of Klauder’s first plan.
The architect insisted his designs were sound. Throughout 1924, they argued, and the floor of Klauder’s apartment became littered with rejected sketches.
In frustration one night, Klauder put on a record from the opera Die Walkure, composed by Richard Wagner. The two men listened to the swelling music, waiting for its culmination. The music denied expectations — peaking again and again. As they listened, they were struck by the composition’s majestic arcs. Two hours later, they had a plan.
On Friday, Nov. 6, 1924, in the University Club, the plan was revealed. After Bowman showed pictures of the plans — a 52-story building costing $10 million — the room fell silent.
William Holland, the former chancellor, criticized the plan, claiming that the proposed site contained dangerous quicksand.
Bowman jumped to his feet, explaining that engineers had designed a safe mechanism around the quicksand.
Holland apologized.
Money matters
The campaign for funding was a long and arduous journey, and many believed Pitt could never raise the project’s required $10 million.
“My life is tied up in the idea that the proposed structure will be the most beautiful and outstanding building ever erected. I am confident that Pittsburgh will build it,” Bowman wrote in a letter to Klauder on Dec. 2, 1924.
Traveling throughout the city, Bowman sought help. He went to steel workers and their families in Carnegie to promote the construction. He was met with enthusiasm.
A woman stood up with a baby in her arms and said, “We have no money, but we go without meat for a week at our house and give you that.”
Then, a man stood up. “I’ve got no money. But I wear this suit of clothes another year and give you the price of a suit of clothes,” he said.
U.S. Steel, after a large kick-off dinner, donated $250,000 in the form of steel equipment. It was one of the first instances of corporate philanthropy, according to the historian Robert Alberts.
Beginning in March of 1924, Bowman started a series of radio talks discussing his vision through the University’s campus radio.
As many as 97,000 local children donated a dime apiece in the famous Buy a Brick campaign to help fund construction. The idea, encouraged by Marcus Aaron, chair of the city’s board of education, was supported by the Pittsburgh teachers. After donating, each child received a certificate testifying that he or she was a member of the “fellowship of builders of the Cathedral of Learning.”
Communities’ bonds
Bowman realized the need to involve the adult community, as well, and in 1926, he proposed that any nationality with a significant number of people in Pittsburgh be allowed to design a nationality room for the Cathedral. He appointed a young sociology professor, Ruth Mitchell, to direct the program.
Pittsburghers were thrilled. They raised money through bake sales, church events and gifts from foreign governments. The Federal Baking Co. created an edible model of the building; a local grocer used milk cans, coffee and sugar to depict the rising building.
Maxine Bruhns, director of the Nationality Rooms and Intercultural Exchange Programs, said the rooms were celebrated and beloved by the communities.
“The Yugoslav room did a Kennywood Park fundraiser every summer for 16 years,” Bruhns said. “The Russian committee would have tea ceremonies. The French earned their money by offering a transatlantic trip as a prize. The Greeks raised it mainly through food fairs.”
Digging through the night
After two years of painstaking arguments over the design and financial issues, plans for construction finally began on Sept. 27, 1926, on land bought with aid from the Mellon family — coveted land which held a few dilapidated buildings scattered throughout 14 acres of uncluttered fields. To prevent any further opposition, construction began quietly.
The local community initially was displeased by the plans, despite the numerous awards Klauder had won for his fusion of the modern skyscraper and Gothic ideals. Trustees complained of the extreme height, worrying of potential danger due to the international ridicule and the possibility of running out of funds.
“[It’s] the world’s largest keep-off-the-grass sign,” the famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright said.
Bowman was undaunted; he relented to a design of 42 stories.
Many alumni refused to donate out of spite — Bowman had been too busy to meet with them earlier in his term. Others ordered their donations be used for anything but the building’s construction.
A.J. Kelly Jr., the man who had recruited Bowman, visited his residence, demanding Bowman stop work immediately. Kelly suggested populating the area with numerous small constructions.
Bowman argued vehemently, and he ordered the contractors to work around the clock.
The manager of the nearby Schenley Hotel — now the William Pitt Union — complained. The noise was disturbing his guests. Construction was limited to 16 hours a day.
The Cathedral posed “quite an interesting engineering and construction problem,” according to Frederick Crabtree, the field engineer. A strong foundation bed was required to hold the building’s weight, as well as force due to the strong Pittsburgh winds.
In October 1929, three years after the ground was broken, an American flag was placed atop the finished steel skeleton. The building was 525 feet tall.
Three days later, the New York Stock Exchange crashed.
Hard times
Yet work continued. On Feb. 28, 1931, the Cathedral held its first classes in unplastered rooms.
Barely a month later, all construction ceased. The financial well had run dry. Bowman was exhausted — he’d ignored his physician’s insistent orders for rest and relaxation.
The Cathedral stood unfinished. Stonework had been partially placed on the first floor, but from the street, it appeared as if Bowman had begun construction on the fifth floor. Rumors circulated that Bowman had designed the methodology so disgruntled administrators would be unable to prevent him from completing the project.
In 1933, the University received an early Christmas gift from the Civil Works Administration: a $300,000 labor grant for work on the looming tower. Labor resumed its 24-hour-a-day schedule, employing 1,259 laborers until April of 1934, when the program ended.
A second campaign began with the practical slogan of “Finish the Cathedral” and the hope of raising another $2.6 million. Failing miserably, it raised only $635,000. But in October, the final exterior stones were put into place.
However, the Commons Room, what Bowman had dreamt of being “the heart and soul of the building […] a room that will so grip a boy that he will never enter it with his hat on,” was nowhere near completion. Bowman returned to Andrew Mellon, seeking another half-million dollars.
Mellon agreed on the premise that no publicity about the gift was to be made.
Finally, on June 4, 1937, Chancellor Bowman placed the final stone — a gift from the graduating class — into the Commons Room. Within the hollow capsule to be used as the final block lay a copy of The Pitt News, a list of donors, progress photographs and other documents — all printed on paper designed to last half a century.
The building containing 17 Nationality Rooms, 87 classrooms, 113 laboratories, 19 libraries, 80 conference rooms and dozens of other rooms, had finally been completed.
Walter Albert Jessup, president of the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching, called it “the most daring and the most beautiful thing ever attempted on a university campus” at a commencement speech on June 9.
The work Bowman and Mitchell started is still continuing, mainly due to Bruhns’ work with the Nationality Rooms. Since Bruhns’ arrival in 1967, numerous rooms have been created, along with several different study abroad scholarships.
“I’m still building rooms, and we’re working on another room — a Korean one. And I’m doing my little bit to bring this to completion,” Bruhns said.
“It’s the pride of the community to decide to raise a room, and then they stay together to raise money so Pitt students can go study for five weeks in their country. It’s international awareness brought to life.”