Historic preservation is about people

Pittsburgh Historic Review Commission member Karen Loysen must not have gotten the memo: historic preservation is no longer just about pretty old buildings built by rich (white) men. Over the past 20 years, the field has sought to become more inclusive and people-centered. Loysen, a Pittsburgh architect, seems to be out of touch with current best practices in historic preservation.

Loysen’s unsophisticated and narrow perspective on historic preservation was on display in her statements about Pittsburgh’s Tito-Mecca-Zizza House as it worked its way through the HRC hearing cycle on its way to historic site designation. Though Loysen and her HRC colleagues declined to recommend landmarking the site, on June 7, 2022, the Pittsburgh City Council voted 6-2 to make the Tito-Mecca-Zizza House Pittsburgh’s newest historic site.

Children in the Tito-mecca-Zizza House side yard.

The landmark nomination that I prepared in 2021, in collaboration with Tito, Mecca, and Zizza family members, included many historical family photos. These pictures show the Victorian home over the span of several decades, lovingly used by the families. The photos also provide invaluable snapshots in time that show how some elements of the historic home have remained unchanged and how other elements were altered or replaced in the late 20th century. They are an invaluable asset any historian or architectural historian would be eager to have to make the case for a property’s historical significance.

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Lost Lloyds: A Pittsburgh Gambling Site Is Erased

If only Pittsburgh had a functioning historic preservation law and a more sophisticated historic preservation advocacy community. A few weeks ago I was in the city’s Squirrel Hill neighborhood to plan for my upcoming Squirrel Hill by the Numbers walking tour dates and I noticed that the facade of 1926 Murray Avenue was missing. It had been there last winter.

Former Beacon Club (1928 1/2 Murray Ave., left) above “H&R Block” and former Squirrel Hill Veteran’s Club (right, 1926 Murray Ave.) in 2019.

I had first encountered the block where the building is located in 2019. I had begun doing interviews for my research into the social history of numbers gambling in Pittsburgh. The Beacon Club, one of Pittsburgh’s most iconic and infamous twentieth century gambling clubs, had been located next door at 1928 1/2 Murray Avenue. Many of the people I interviewed early on and later described the club’s significant roles in Pittsburgh’s underworld history, Jewish history, and Black history.

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Pittsburgh City Council Testimony: Tito-Mecca-Zizza House

Today, the Pittsburgh City Council heard testimony related to the nomination of the Tito-Mecca-Zizza House as a City of Pittsburgh historic site. My written testimony (below) supplemented the 2021 nomination report I prepared and my oral testimony delivered during the hearing.

Tito House Historic Site Nomination
Bill No. 2022-0190
Pittsburgh City County Hearing
April 20, 2022

Testimony of Dr. David Rotenstein

For the record, my name is David Rotenstein and I am writing as the author of the Tito-Mecca-Zizza House historic site nomination report.

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DAM it all to Hell: Pittsburgh Historic Preservation’s Rube Goldberg Machine

In 2018, the City of Pittsburgh passed a law recognizing community organizations and implementing a process to improve stakeholder participation in development activities. The new law added to an already complicated bureaucracy for such municipal boards and commissions as the Zoning Board of Adjustment, Planning Commission, and the Historic Review Commission. These quasi-judicial boards hold public hearings where members of the public and City officials “are allowed to give testimony concerning issues under consideration.” The new Registered Community Organization Law requires all people living in a neighborhood with a registered community organization (RCO) to hold a public meeting called a development activities meeting or DAM before they can have a case heard before one of the city’s quasi-judicial boards.

Gina and Steve Super got sucked into the new DAM system soon after it launched. In1996, they bought a historic building on Pittsburgh’s Southside. For almost 50 years prior to their purchase, the two-and-a-half-story brick building at 2106 East Carson Street had housed Gerson Brothers, a tailoring and dry cleaning business. After buying the building, Gina Super opened The Laundry Basket in the storefront space.

2016 East Carson Street (Lucy’s Handmade Clothing Shop). Photo December 2021.

About two years ago, the Supers decided to make some changes. They closed the laundry business and converted the space into a retail store. At the same time, the Supers painted the building’s exterior. “All we wanted to do was freshen up the paint on the front and we replaced it with the same exact colors,” Gina Super told me in a January 2022 interview. “It wasn’t like we were changing or altering the front of the building. We repainted the identical colors.”

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Something stinks in Pittsburgh’s Strip District

A historic building in Pittsburgh’s Strip District is being demolished. There’s no question that demolition was the only economically viable alternative for the former Federal Cold Storage Company building. I had known about the building for decades: its giant illuminated fish had been a familiar sight that I fondly recalled from living in the city during the 1990s. In 2020, a developer found the right combination of plans and financing to convert the property from an abandoned industrial warehouse into a new mixed-use development. But first, the historic building had to be demolished.

Like me, lots of Pittsburgh residents had loved the fish sign. My attachments to the building went deeper, though. I found its industrial design and history interesting and that history dovetailed with my research interests. I have written on the history of Pittsburgh’s food-related industries and the industrial architectural and landscapes associated with it. Additionally,  I had written a history of an Alexandria, Virginia, ice plant  — a related historic property type. In 2020, I learned more about the building’s history and its roles in Pittsburgh labor and organized crime history. Continue reading

Is this Milt Jaffe?

Milton “Milt” Jaffe (1895-1981) was a Pittsburgh entertainment entrepreneur. He was a major player in the city’s Prohibition-era casinos and speakeasies before becoming a boxing promoter (Billy Conn) and moving to Las Vegas to manage the Stardust Casino.

Post-Gazette, Jul. 17, 1963.

For reasons that should be obvious, Jaffe didn’t like to have his photo taken. Despite many arrests and his high-profile work in entertainment and sports, few newspaper photos were ever published. Earlier this week I interviewed the family of one of Jaffe’s former racketeering associates. During the three-hour session, they broke out family photo albums with photos of their flamboyant ancestor (also in the “entertainment” biz). Several dating to the 1930s kinda-sorta look like two photos of Jaffe published in newspapers (look to your left).

I struck out with the relatives of some of Jaffe’s other closest known associates, including Art Rooney Jr.: “Could be. Not sure. He was like a relative ….” I also struck out with folks who came into contact with Jaffe at his Squirrel Hill home in the 1940s and 1950s — they were young children at the time.

Seeing no other potential information sources, I came here, to the world’s most comprehensive crowdsourcing tool. So, I’ll put it you you, friends: Is this Milt Jaffe? Let me know in the comments, along with your sources.

Is this Milt Jaffe?

© 2021 D.S. Rotenstein

Zapped! Pittsburgh microwave sites

Last Fall I was driving around taking pictures of mobster graves and sites associated with organized crime history in Pittsburgh when I spotted an old microwave tower on a hilltop. It was breaking the horizon in an otherwise ordinary suburban landscape. Nearby, as is common with many first- and second-generation microwave towers building in the late 1940s and early 1950s, there were radio and television broadcast towers and cellphone towers.

Former AT&T microwave tower site, December 2020. It is flanked by a television broadcast tower (Sinclair Broadcasting) and a monopole (cellphone).

I have long had an interest in the history of telecommunications history infrastructure: towers and antenna sites. The old microwave tower in Pittsburgh’s North Hills was easily recognizable from a distance as a type built by AT&T during the company’s first microwave network buildout. Towers like these were built on hilltops and mountainsides throughout the United States to create a line-of-sight antenna network carrying voice, television, and data at the speed of light. Continue reading

Thomas Mellon: Segregationist and White Supremacist

In 2020, public historians and preservationists were all atwitter after the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation announced the Monuments Project: a five-year, $250 million effort to create more honest commemorative landscapes in the United States. The foundation’s namesake, Andrew W. Mellon (1855-1937), was an early member of a Pittsburgh industrial and financial family whose ranks include bankers, lawyers, judges, and politicians. Andrew’s resume includes banking; distilling; and stints as the U.S Secretary of the Treasury and Ambassador to the U.K.

The Mellons and the institutions associated with them have long been hailed as cornerstones in American history. Yet, how well do the Mellons fare when their ties to slavery, segregation, and white supremacy are examined? In 2019, Inside Philanthropy explored this question in a blog post by Julie Travers:

For example, a recent $1 million grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation to the College of William and Mary is one example of how a funder can approach the legacy of slavery within the humanities. It will support research and education pertaining to the college’s history with enslaved people. During my research for this article, I discovered that several Mellon family ancestors enslaved people, which raises interesting questions about how a foundation can approach this issue in its own history.

The foundation declined the blog post author’s request for comment. The philanthropy article includes some solid research, but I question why it arbitrarily limited its examination of the Mellons to slavery. What about the family’s roles in American society after the Civil War? There’s a whole lot of territory left unexplored, including mortgage lending discrimination and other structural racism reinforcing discriminatory practices that the family’s financial interests promoted.

The Mellons are American heroes. That evidence is abundantly clear in their hometown, Pittsburgh, where the commemorative landscape is filled with monuments to them: place names, a park, public art, buildings, and even a university.

In these days of truth and reconciliation, can the Andrew Mellon Foundation accomplish its goals to reshape the American commemorative landscape and “recalibrate” narratives about our shared national past without first taking ownership, telling the truth, about its namesakes? I don’t think so and one episode from the family’s history underscores why.

Andrew inherited his wealth and status from his father, Thomas Mellon (1813-1908). Thomas Mellon began his career practicing law in Pittsburgh in the 1830s. In 1859. Allegheny County residents elected Thomas Mellon as a judge in the county’s Court of Common Pleas. He served for a decade before retiring in 1869.

Shortly before Mellon left the bench, he participated in a case involving the application of an attorney who wanted to join the Allegheny County Bar to practice law in the city. George B. Vashon (1824-1878) was born in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. His father, John Vashon, had served in the War of 1812 and became a wealthy Pittsburgh entrepreneur and nationally prominent abolitionist.

Advertisement for John Vashon’s business, Pittsburgh Weekly Gazette, June 26, 1832.

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The digital People’s Court

Banner, Internet Court of Lies.

Robert Thibadeau wants to jail all of the lies floating around on the Internet. To accomplish this lofty goal, the retired Carnegie Mellon University professor is using an old Moose lodge in a Pittsburgh suburb as a virtual courtroom where he runs the Internet Court of Lies.

Thibadeau’s idiosyncratic approach to Internet truth dismisses decades of scholarship on lies and lying. Instead, he has concocted a dubious definition of “lies” and an even more questionable approach to identifying and mitigating digital dishonesty. I first noticed his “courtroom” while driving through Sharpsburg, Pennsylvania, about six miles north of downtown Pittsburgh on the Allegheny River. The banners and other items affixed to the former Moose lodge piqued my curiosity. I bought a copy of Thibadeau’s self-published book, How to Recover Your Lies (Privust LLC, 2019), and then I asked him for an interview.

After a two-hour Zoom conversation, multiple follow-up emails, and communications with a linguist who literally wrote the book on lies and lying, I cobbled together a two-part blog post for the New Directions in Folklore blog. Read about the Internet Court of Lies here:

The Internet Court of Lies: A Digital People’s Court? (Part 1)
and
The Internet Court of Lies – Part 2

The Internet Court of Lies is the first thing people see as they enter Sharpsburg, Pa., from the south.

© 2020 D.S. Rotenstein

 

 

Remembering things that brought people together

Between 1996 and 1999, I spent many hours inside the Pittsburgh Wool plant taking photos and talking with the company’s owners, Jeff Kumer and his father, Roy (1908-2004). I pored over the company’s voluminous business records, looked at photographs, and recorded several hours of audio interviews with the Kumers and several of their workers.

Pittsburgh Wool Company as seen from Pennsylvania Route 28, 1997.

The company occupied a four-story former tannery building. The interior had been divided into specialized spaces related to the work done there. For example, the second floor dedicated to wool pulling, drying, and baling. The upper floors were used to store pelts (in later years).

Pittsburgh Wool Company, HAER No. PA-572, Sheet 5.

In the company’s later years, all of the raw materials entered and left the plant via the first floor. Lamb pelts entered and pickled lamb skins and baled wool left. The first floor included washing vats for the pelts and metal tables where depilatory was painted on the skins to loosen the wool for pulling.

Jeff Kumer (left) and Keith White (right) painting and folding pelts, February 2000.

Once the wool was removed on the second floor, the skins were dropped through holes in the floor into large rotating drums on the first floor where they were pickled before being sent to tanneries.

Lamb skins after pulling being dropped into a hatch in the second floor above a rotating pickling drum on the first floor. The people observing include a documentary film crew and Heinz History Center staff. February 2000.

Pickle drum, first floor, Pittsburgh Wool Company.

Most of these spaces were documented in detail in 2000 for the Historic American Engineering Record (HAER). The measured drawings and my narrative report are archived at the Library of Congress. If you want to learn about the technology and material culture of wool pulling, those are the places to get your fix.

Pittsburgh Wool Company, HAER No. PA-572, cover sheet.

But if you want to learn about the people who kept the company going for more than half a century after the Kumer family bought it, you’ll be left feeling unfulfilled by the HAER documentation. I had always intended to write something more detailed about the business and its people but real life kept getting in the way.

Pittsburgh Wool Company office (highlighted), Pittsburgh Wool Company, HAER No. PA-572.

The office was one of the undocumented spaces inside the Pittsburgh Wool Company building. In the HAER drawings it’s simply represented as a box along the River Avenue facade. Yet, inside that box there were two offices: an outer office that served as a reception area and an inner office where the Kumers had their desks. They both worked in view of a portrait of the company’s founder, W.P. Lange.

Roy (seated) and Jeff Kumer inside the Pittsburgh Wool Company office, 1997.

Off to the side was another room that the Kumers used as a kitchen. The HAER architects didn’t draw plans for these spaces and I never took any pictures of them. Now, more than 20 years later, it’s one of the fieldwork mistakes that I will always regret.

Pittsburgh Wool Company, HAER No. PA-572, Sheet 5. The office is in the lower right.

Inside those spaces Roy Kumer worked his magical calculations to determine precisely how many pelts the company needed to buy from particular meatpackers around the nation. “I give credit to my dad for this,” Jeff Kumer told me in 1997. “He worked out his own book keeping process that he would be able to predict from year to year, when that month’s production came along from that particular plant.”

The telephones inside the offices connected the Kumers to a global network of meatpackers, textile mills, and leather tanners. Their files documented more than a century of institutional knowledge.

The business spaces seem like the most obvious to have mapped and more fully documented and they should have been. But so too was the kitchen. That’s where each day Jeff and Roy would adjourn mid-day to eat lunch together. I fondly recall the days when I was doing research in the plant when Jeff would invite me into the kitchen for some soup and a sandwich.

On August 5, 1999 I did my fourth interview with the Kumers inside the building. By that time a deal had been hammered out for the neighboring Heinz Company to acquire the Pittsburgh Wool Company property after a contentious battle that included a threat by the City of Pittsburgh to use eminent domain to seize the property. Sometime in the next year, the old tannery building was to be demolished to be replaced by a new Heinz warehouse.

Jeff Kumer and I sat in the kitchen where I asked my questions with a tape recorder sitting on the table between us. I returned to the plant two other times. The first was in February 2000 to witness a final run of pelts through the plant for a documentary produced by the Heinz History Center as part of the mitigation package agreed upon the year before. The second time was in the summer of 2000 when I drove from Charleston, West Virginia, to Pittsburgh to collect a few artifacts that Kumer wanted to give me before they were to vacate it prior to its demolition.

Pittsburgh Wool Company demolition.

One of the artifacts Kumer gave me was completely unrelated to the pulling of wool or processing of skins. It was a cream-colored ceramic soup bowl from the company’s kitchen. It’s an ordinary earthenware bowl with no maker’s marks or other markings. I have kept it on a shelf in all of the home offices I have had since then.

Soup bowl, Pittsburgh Wool Company.

I wish that I had asked questions about the kitchen and the Kumers’ attachment to it. I also wish that I had done a more complete job documenting the non-industrial spaces inside the plant. Over the years since I first set foot inside the Pittsburgh Wool Company building in 1996, I have learned a lot about space and its many uses. Those spaces were integral to the company’s history and they represented a critical social part of the Pittsburgh Wool Company’s story that isn’t preserved in documents, photographs, or the interviews with the people who worked there.

© 2020 D.S. Rotenstein