This is my woodcut, "City Hall," which was done in the early seventies when I lived in Philadelphia. It's the largest print I've ever done, 30 x 40 inches. I knew that people would be asking me "How long did it take to do?" so for the first time ever, I kept track of my time. It took one hundred hours to cut.
I had been asked by Captain Robert Frederick, of the Sixth Police District, to do a drawing of City Hall for him. It was because of his request that the woodcut came to life.
I spent several days sketching across the street from City Hall. I didn't intend to make such a large print but it just sort of grew, like Topsy did. I ordered a piece of cherry from Riley Lumber, and they did a magnificent job of piecing wood together; you couldn't see any seams at all. I had to use a wood with a fine grain because the lines were so fine that the wood would splinter if I'd used pine. I placed the wood block on a small table with some telephone books underneath it. That was for the height, and then I could either turn the block as I worked, or move around it while I was carving.
When you carve into the wood with a knife, in order to get a black line, you first cut in one direction and then turn the block and cut in the opposite direction. A sliver of wood will then be removed from the block in this manner. You would complete the same process on the other side of the thickness of that line to get what you're after. If you're using a gouge, you don't have to do all of that turning of the block. You're carving away all of the areas that will be white when the block is printed. And when it's printed, the drawing is reversed. If you have any lettering or numbers in a block, they must be drawn onto the wood backwards, or in "mirror writing," as I like to think of this. When I'm working on a drawing for a woodcut, I like to work on tracing paper. Then when the drawing is completed, I can just flip it over and trace the image onto the wood. When that image is printed, it will be in the same position as the original drawing.
I moved to Philadelphia in 1958. At that time there was a lot of talk about tearing down City Hall. I found it hard to believe that anyone might consider this, and it's even more incredible to think of that now. People traveled to Europe and marveled at castles hundreds of years old, but in America they were willing to tear things down and replace them with architectural cereal boxes. It was ludicrous! Thank goodness someone had some common sense and it was decided to leave City Hall as it was, but to clean it up. What a concept!
Philadelphia's City Hall is smack in the center of two major intersections; Broad Street and Market Street. It was an annoyance for people to have to drive around the building. Many thought that an intersection would be better without a building standing in its center.
This fantastic building was designed by John McArthur, Jr. It took thirty years to build it after construction was begun in 1871. City Hall is the tallest masonry structure in the world without a steel frame. The solid granite first floor is twenty-two feet thick in places. It also can boast having a thirty-seven-foot bronze statue weighting more than 53,000 pounds, which makes it the tallest statue on any building in the world; that's the sculpture of William Penn, designed by Alexander Milne Calder. Calder designed over two hundred statues for City Hall, and with his staff of assistants spent twenty years creating these works of art. The sculpture represents seasons and continents, allegorical figures, and heads and masks.
(Photograph by Jeffrey M. Vinocur)
For many years a gentlemen's agreement existed between planners and developers not to have any building's height exceed the top of William Penn's hat; however, in the mid-1980s this ended when Willard G. Rouse III decided to build One Liberty Place and was allowed to do so. The lure of new jobs and tax revenues broke the height barrier that had existed for such a long time. That began the era of skyscrapers and "canyon" streets in Philadelphia.
I always felt that Philadelphia had an inferiority complex because it was so close to New York City. It's a shame, because you cannot compete with New York, but you can certainly maintain your own character and dictinctive qualities as a city. Now that Philadelphia has lost its manufacturing capabilities and has marketed itself as a tourist destination, a lot of that aspect of the city's psyche may have disappeared.
Alexander Stirling Calder, the son of the man who designed the statues for City Hall, and the father of Alexander (Sandy) Calder, famed for his mobiles and stabiles, was also a sculptor whose work adds elegance and beauty to the city's parks and parkways.
I had a strong connection to City Hall. In February of 1971, I served on an indicting grand jury that met there for one month. Each Friday we would visit the various components of the criminal justice system. We toured police headquarters, getting an overview of everything in that building, including the labs and the holding cells in the basement.
We went to the Youth Study Center, which was a juvenile holding facility and also visited Holmesburg Prison, where we were allowed to go into a cell block wing. Holmesburg is a menacing looking structure in Northeast Philadelphia, along the Delaware River. It has a very thick, high stone wall surrounding the stone building. It's gray, gray, gray. The doors of the cells were unlocked, something that I'm certain wouldn't happen these days. But that was before hostage taking became popular. We also visited the Women's Detention Center, where we had lunch.
City Hall also had a holding facility on the top floor; the seventh-floor cell block. That's where prisoners who were on trial waited to be called down to the various courtrooms of City Hall. Each morning the sheriffs' vans would drive into the City Hall courtyard and park in the center. The prisoners would then be escorted inside and taken up in an elevator to the seventh floor cells. When the grand jury went up there we were disgusted at the horrendous conditions. The report that was issued at the end of our tenure contained a harsh condemnation of those conditions. We also had a photographer go up there with us and take pictures of what we saw, and we made our displeasure quite public. The cell block was totally renovated after a couple of years and now there's a new criminal justice building housing the courtrooms. It's right across the street, so it's convenient and accessible. I always get a charge out of the fact that Portland's City Hall is the place where concerts are held. Quite a difference!
Ronald D. Castille
I met Ron Castille because of my "City Hall" woodcut. Ron is now a justice on the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. I met him at Head House Square in the early 1970s, where I was exhibiting my artwork at the annual Head House Craft Fair, held each summer from mid-June to Labor Day.
It was a horrible day regarding weather; dark and dreary; pouring. It was not a day conducive to selling art outdoors, even though there was a shed roof covering the one-block-long Headhouse Shambles in the heart of Society Hill, Philadelphia's historic colonial neighborhood.
Hardly anyone had even walked by my table. It was just a matter of hoping the time would pass quickly, since the fair was open from ten in the morning until midnight Saturdays. It was going to be a very long day. Early in the afternoon a handsome young man approached my table. He was using crutches and had only one leg. He wore a large cowboy hat, jauntily perched on his head, a sight that wasn't seen too often in downtown Philly. He began asking about my woodcut of City Hall, which had attracted his attention. It was hanging on the backdrop behind my booth.
He introduced himself and said that he was an assistant district attorney in the homocide division of the DA's office. He also lived in the neighborhood. After inquiring about the price of the print, and a most pleasant chat, he said that he'd neglected to bring his checkbook with him and he didn't have enough cash on him to make the purchase. I told him that he could take the print and mail me a check, but he declined that offer. He said he'd come back later with cash. I thought that would be the last time I'd see him.
A few hours later, to my surprise, he was once again heading toward my booth. When he reached me, he said "Do you remember me?"
I bit my tongue to keep from saying: "Exactly how many men with one leg wearing a cowboy hat do you think have passed this booth today?" I was polite and just said, "Yes." That was my initial meeting with Ron Castille, who bought the print that day.
When he ran for DA in 1986, I hosted a party for him, and it was at that time I was finally able to tell him what I'd wanted to say at our first meeting when he purchased my picture. He roared. He went on to become the district attorney of Philadelphia, and then on to win his election to the State Supreme Court.
Many attorneys, judges, and a couple of mayors in Philadelphia bought that print. The present governor of Pennsylvania, Ed Rendell, owns it, purchased when he was Philadelphia's district attorney.
William J. Green III, became mayor of Philadelphia in 1980, after serving as congressman, winning that post in a special election after his father's death in December 1963. He served in Congress until 1977 and ran for mayor in 1979. Bill Green had the City Hall woodcut, and before leaving office ordered ten framed copies of the smaller version to be given as gifts to the police officers who had guarded him during his tenure in office. That was exciting for me, and was also a very nice gesture on his part to those people who had served him so well.
I have one of the large woodcuts of "City Hall" hanging in my living room, which is a constant reminder of those days. I still find it amazing to imagine how anyone with a brain could have conceived of tearing down that magnificent structure, filled with irreplaceable sculpture. Thank goodness they did one thing right in that city. They cleaned it up and have it lit at night.
I'm sure you've come across people who have their hands free while walking down the street and talking on a phone. When you first approach them you get the impression that they're talking to themselves. But they aren't. They're probably speaking to some other nincompoop who's walking down another street spouting gibberish into a phone.
Perhaps cell phones will be given to children at birth. Then they can fit into our manic telephone society as soon as they begin walking and talking.
Amen!
