Philly Flashbacks

The odd, the interesting and the downright ridiculous.

Archive for the tag “Philadelphia History”

Back to the Future

In 1987

In September, 1887, the Philadelphia Inquirer used the centennial anniversary of the adoption of the Federal Constitution to look back on what Philadelphia had been in 1787, to analyze and criticize the state of the city in 1887, and to project what it might be like a hundred years in the future. The article was part editorial sermonizing and part wishful thinking. Optimistically foreseeing the end of municipal corruption and the advancement of science, the paper was spot-in in some instances and entirely missed the mark in others. “In 1987,” the Inquirer trumpeted,”once again, Philadelphia is the leading city on the American continent just as it was 200 years ago in 1787.” 

Below is a summation of the two page article, with its original paragraph headings and the charming lithographs representing the Jules Verne-esque Philadelphia of 1987 that the Inquirer artists conceptualized.

Phila 1987 subway

Exit Steam.

Throughout the article, the virtues of the latest technological wonder–electricity– were extolled. Dirty, noisy steam driven trains and steet cars would be replaced by efficient, silent, electrically driven, lightweight aluminum transport fitted with rubber wheels. No more smoke belching from coal and wood fires, no clattering of horse hooves on stone streets, no clanging of trolley bells.  All this was made possible, the Inquirer said, by electricity, and by the cutting edge Keely motor.

keelyJohn Ernst Worrell Keely, left, was a Philadelphia inventor who claimed to have constructed an “etheric generator” that ran only on water which the apparatus would “disintegrate” to produce a mysterious vapor or “ether” that could run powerful machinery. Hopeful investors poured nearly a million dollars into his research. Keely predicted that his new “vacuo-engine” would make all other sources of energy obsolete. Facing legal problems and accused of fraud, Keely died of pneumonia in 1898, having produced nothing. When asked by a friend what epitaph he’d like, John Keely replied, “Keely, the greatest humbug of the 19th century.” There is a model of the Keely engine at the Franklin Institute.

keely stock

A Ship Canal Across Jersey.

In the twentieth century, the Inquirer went on, a wide canal would be cut across southern New Jersey, from Camden to Barnegat Township, and Smith and Windmill Islands in the Delaware River would be dredged away. The resulting increase in maritime traffic would boost Philadelphia to its rightful pre-eminence in America, once eclipsing its rival New York. No canal was ever built, but in 1898 Smith and Windmill Islands, which stood east of Walnut Street, below, were, in fact, removed.

Islands

Palatial Tunnels. Bridge to Camden.

In addition to the trans-New Jersey canal, two tunnels would be dug to Camden, from Moore Street in South Philadelphia and from Lehigh Avenue to the north. A bridge would also finally be constructed, since objections to its impeding ship traffic on the Delaware were dropped when the Keely motor (!) made tall masted sailing ships obsolete.

Phila 1887-1987

Disturbed by the number of tall buildings sprouting up in Philadelphia, the Inquirer also predicted that in 1961 a law would be passed limiting all buildings to 150 feet. These contiguous buildings would surround each block with a continuous roofline and encircle a garden or recreational space in the block’s center. Because of new elevator technology, kitchens could now be installed on the top floor, instead of the basement, alleviating smoke and cooking odors throughout the house. Electric heat meant an end to dirty flues, vents and furnace fumes.

Visitors who arrived in Philadelphia via balloon would be treated to an expanse of marvellous rooftop gardens and restaurants, all equipped with balloon tethering posts, see illustration above.

William Peter Elkiner’s Experiment.

Peter A B WidenerIn this section, the Inquirer addressed the problem of Philadelphia’s city government, one that in the late 19th century was notorious for corruption. The name “William Peter Elkiner” was a conflation of Peter Widener, left, and William Elkiner, below, right, actual Philadelphia business partners, who were two of the wealthiest men in the United States. Widener had served as City Treasurer and used his political influence to gain control of the city’s streetcar system, with his partner, Elkins. He then used his incredible wealth to buy large blocks of stock in the United States Steel Corporation, Standard Oil and the Pennsylvania Railroad. In 1887, as this article was being written,  he was completing the construction of a large mansion at North Broad Street and Girard Avenue. It still stands today.

William Lukens ElkinsThe Inquirer took the fictitious “William Peter Elkiner” to task for seeing himself as being above the law, for attempted bribery and for failing to fulfill contracted public duties. However, in the Philadelphia of 1987, said the Inquirer, the mythical Elkiner’s plans to stall the passage of the bill limiting the height of city buildings would be thwarted by city councils and courts that were now staffed by “intelligent and upright citizens.” Not only would Elkiner’s attempts be futile, but the very fact of his opposing the bill would help it to pass more quickly. “The case is dismissed. And that was the end of that.” In 1987, intelligence and morality would replace complacent corruption. If only.

Electric Travel

The Saloon Subsides.

Siding with the Temperance movement, the Inquirer also predicted a national prohibition on liquor in 1904. This prediction wasn’t far off the mark; the Eighteenth Amendment took effect on January 17, 1920. It also predicted a surge in the economy due to the saving of money formerly spent on alcohol and a lessening of crime and therefore of the prison population. Here the paper’s optimism was misplaced. In fact, National Prohibition created a lawless atmosphere and vastly increased criminal activity. Called “the noble experiment,” it was repealed in 1932.

Who Shall Vote.

Constitutional amendments would extend the right to vote to men and women alike,  “but limited it , by well-known restrictions, to those only, of either sex, who were likely to vote intelligently and honestly.” The Inquirer didn’t elaborate on what these “well-known restrictions” were, or how it would be determined who would be likely to vote intelligently and honestly.

1987 Phila

Actual Philadelphia in 1987. The newly completed Liberty Place dominates the skyline.

Philadelphia in 1987.

In general, the article was hopeful in foreseeing that the next 100 years would bring a clean, quiet, comfortable city, a far cry from the noisy, dirty, urban landscape of the late 19th century. The Inquirer wrote:

Machinery does so much that men formerly had to do by their own powers, and does it so much more quickly, that everybody has time for relaxation and mental improvement. A sound mind in a sound body and healthful employment for both will make the possessor happy…amid the comfort and luxuries of the Philadelphia of 1987.

How Two Sewer Rats Made History in City Hall Tower

Phila City Hall1889

From the moment the elevator in the still unfinished City Hall tower, above, was opened to the sight-seeing public in April of 1889, it was a huge hit. The top of the tower, even unfinished, provided a breathtaking panoramic view of the city. During the following summer, the elevator operators were astonished at the number of young couples who decided that ascending the tower of the new Public Buildings on Penn Square was just about the most romantic thing they could do. There were so many “bashful swains and blushing sweethearts” that one elevator engineer commented:

You never saw the like! They’re all spooneys, too. They’ve been kissing and hugging all day, and I’m sick of it. Another day’s work like this would break me all up.

Toward Logan Sq

City Hall 1908

Throughout the next decade, the popularity of the elevator continued to grow. By 1899, 5,000 people a month were ascending to the top of the now completed tower, to gaze down at the city from right under the feet of its beloved founder, William Penn. Take a look at the spectacular late 19th century view from the tower toward Logan Square, above. The completion of the the clock room and aluminum cap had increased the tower’s height by another 200 feet, to a total of over 500 feet.

In 1900, a new, hydraulic elevator was installed to accomodate the new height. Not long after, a few accidents began occurring. Most were minor, but when the locking device failed, one of these was fatal, giving rise to a new concern about the safety of the new hydraulic elevator. After all, it was now operating in what was one of the longest elevator runs in the world, second only to the Washington Monument. Newspapers began calling the City Hall tower elevator ride “a Constant Menace to the Lives of Passengers.”

 Tower 1902In 1901, the Public Building Commissioners shut the tower ride down for a few months and petitioned City Councils for $8,000 in funding to install an automatic safety air cushion under the tower elevator. Installed in 1902, this “air cushion” was a compartment 70 feet deep at the base of the shaft that the manufacturer claimed would slowly and safely bring the elevator car to a gradual stop. On the afternoon of September 25th, 1902, the new safety system was tested before the public in a somewhat bizarre and dramatic demonstration.

At 1:30 pm, the 2,500 pound car was raised 372 feet up in the shaft, left, the steel cables were detached and the car was held suspended only by a single rope. Inside the car was a cage containing two sewer rats, along with dozens of eggs and delicate light bulbs placed on the floor as well as several glasses of water filled to the brim. A crowd of of over 500, including the entire Bureau of Elevator Inspectors and the chief mechanical engineer of the Federal Treasury Department, assembled to witness the official event.

When the rope was cut, the car plummeted down the shaft past the spectators at a rate of about 120 miles an hour. Clouds of dust were thrown up, and a giant boom reverberated through the building as the car hit the air well. The whole thing took only about seven seconds. From the noise, many of the spectators were sure the car had been smashed to pieces. However, the crowd in the hall directly below the elevator shaft reported that the giant electric chandelier suspended there had remained absolutely steady and never flickered. When the onlookers rushed to the elevator car, they found that none of the water had been spilled, only three eggs were cracked and our heroes, the rats, looked shaken up by the fall but were unharmed. The unbroken eggs were distributed as souvenirs.

The next day, the Inquirer headline dutifully reported:

Rats 1902

The paper also said that the builders and spectators were highly elated over the test, which it called “the greatest elevator drop that has ever been made in the world.”

If it walks like William Penn, talks like William Penn and looks like William Penn . . .

Quaker Oats

So just who is that guy in the plain black hat smiling back enigmatically from your box of oats?  Today, the Quaker Oats Company, a PepsiCo subsidiary, emphatically denies that he’s Philadelphia’s honest founder, the man whose 37 foot tall statue graces the top of our city hall, William Penn.

This is what they say on the 2013 Quaker Oats website FAQ:

Q: Who is the man on the Quaker Oats box? Is it William Penn?

A: The “Quaker man” is not an actual person. His image is that of a man dressed in the Quaker garb, chosen because the Quaker faith projected the values of honesty, integrity, purity and strength.

William-Penn-Cropped

1718 German portrait of Wm Penn

Despite what they say now,  the Quaker Oats Company, “Founder of Packaged Oats,” was not always shy about identifying their product with our hero Penn, “Founder of a Great city and a great Commonwealth.”

Here’s a Quaker Oats magazine ad from 1909, click on it for a larger image:

1909 Quaker Oats

“Sold by all Honest Grocers,” indeed.

Post Navigation