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.

Continue reading

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

 

The right kind of people

Last week the Pittsburgh Planning Commission agreed with a recommendation forwarded to it by the city’s Historic Review Commission that an 1840s house in Pittsburgh’s Lawrenceville neighborhood is eligible for designation as a city historic landmark.

The Ewalt Mansion is a two-story brick Greek Revival home built by an early Pittsburgh resident, Samuel Ewalt. According to historic preservationists, the building is historically significant for its architecture and for its association with important people and events in Pittsburgh’s history.

Ewalt Mansion, March 2020.

Lawrenceville is one of Pittsburgh’s most rapidly gentrifying neighborhoods. Change and displacement are happening so quickly in the neighborhood that in 2019 the City of Pittsburgh passed a new inclusive zoning law. The law is an experiment and temporary — it expires 18 months from its enactment — and it only covers large developers building at least 20 rental units. The pilot program’s goal is to preserve affordable housing. Affordable housing advocates hailed the new law, which only applies to Lawrenceville. Continue reading

Landmarks

Like most other places in North America, historic preservation in Pittsburgh has (at least) two separate and unequal tracks: one for places associated with white history and another for buildings, structures, and sites associated with Black history.

Last week I visited several buildings associated with Black history that are designated under Pittsburgh’s historic preservation law. There are no African-American-themed historic districts in Pittsburgh. A 2006 Young Preservationists Association of Pittsburgh report, “Unprotected Pittsburgh,” identified only three locally-designated properties: The Centre Avenue YMCA, John Wesley A.M.E. Zion Church, and the New Granada Theater.

The Centre Avenue YMCA is a city-designated property. It is being rehabilitated for use as affordable housing. March 2020 photo.

Continue reading

The unremarkable warehouse: a Pittsburgh Wool photo essay

Even with its new warehouse, there are no guarantees that Heinz will be able to maintain its manufacturing presence perpetually, and if someday they leave, Pittsburgh will be left with an unremarkable 1990s warehouse — David S. Rotenstein, Society for Industrial Archeology Newsletter, Fall 1999.

I should have put money on that 1999 prediction. Heinz did leave Pittsburgh and the city did end up with an ugly and unremarkable (and now abandoned) 1990s warehouse.

Former Pittsburgh Wool Company site, 2019.

Twenty years ago the Pittsburgh Wool Company building was demolished so that the Heinz company could build a new warehouse to distribute soups and baby food. The demolition marked the end of a historic building and more than 150 years of continuous use of a single site by the leather industry. Since the 1840s, wood (and later brick) tannery buildings had occupied the site on the north shore of the Allegheny River where the Pittsburgh Wool plant was located.

They, like their neighbor to the south, the H.J. Heinz Company, were part of Pittsburgh’s industrial heritage. Yet, in 1999 then-Mayor Tom Murphy cut a deal with Heinz to enable the company to expand its footprint to the north. The deal included the threat that if the company that occupied the property Heinz wanted didn’t agree to leave, the city would use its eminent domain powers to seize the land that had been declared blighted in 1980. The Pittsburgh Wool Company was the entity that needed to move.

In a new PublicSource article, I re-examined the 1999 eminent domain battle through a lens shaped by my recent work on displacement and gentrification. This photo essay documents the Pittsburgh Wool Company site through time.

This is a basic warehouse building undistinguishable from a thousand other buildings in the city — John DeSantis, Pittsburgh Historic Review Commission chairman, July 1999.

James Callery tannery, c. 1889. The Pittsburgh Wool Company occupied the highlighted building from the 1950s to 2000.

A view the Pittsburgh Wool Company, the National Lead Company and surrounding businesses on River Avenue looking to the Allegheny River. Pittsburgh City Photographer, December 20, 1962. Historic Pittsburgh image.

Pittsburgh Wool Company, 1997.

Pittsburgh Wool Company, 1997.

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

Pittsburgh Wool Company demolition, October 2000. Photo by Elsie Yuratovich.

Pittsburgh Wool Company demolition, November 2000.

Abandoned former Heinz warehouse, Pittsburgh Wool site, October 2019.

The Pittsburgh Wool Company relocated to the Strip District when its historic building was demolished. By 2019, all that remained was a shell company used by the former owner to manage his real estate assets.

© 2020 D.S. Rotenstein

 

 

The Crawford Grill No. 2 and the danger of a single story [updated]

Introduction

Most Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, residents recognize the building on the northwest corner of Wylie Avenue and Elmore Street as the Crawford Grill No. 2. That’s the name that the most visible business in the building went by for half a century and that’s the name that historic preservationists used in 2019 to nominate the property to the National Register of Historic Places.[1]

2141 Wylie Avenue, Pittsburgh. October 2019.

The Crawford Grill No. 2 isn’t a bad name for the building. It fits, considering how long the nightclub occupied the space. But because historic preservationists have focused on the building’s time as the Crawford Grill No. 2 and the people who owned it between 1945 and 2003, there’s a lot missing from the building’s story. The historic preservation narrative, which closely hews to previously published texts documenting the building’s colorful time as an internationally renowned jazz club, conforms to what the novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie calls “the danger of a single story.”

The “single story,” according to Adichie, flattens experience and they encourage stereotypes: “The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.”

This post offers some additional storylines to the three-story brick building at 2141 Wylie Avenue in Pittsburgh’s Hill District. I need to be up front about how I ended up reading the draft National Register nomination for the property. In August 2019 I began a research project stemming from my work on a book about erasure and gentrification in an Atlanta suburb. I had been studying numbers gambling in urban and suburban areas since 2015.

[A quick primer on numbers gambling offsite source]

Numbers slips confiscated in 1930 by Pittsburgh police in the city’s North Side. Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 29, 1930.

Histories of the Hill District became essential reading and I took advantage of local archival resources after moving back to Pittsburgh in 2019. While reading some of the Hill District work I went down a research rabbit hole pursuing questions around the intersection of history and folklore in Hill District vice. The light on the other end of the rabbit hole led me to begin conversations with a university press about a book on the history of Pittsburgh numbers gambling rackets. But that’s a story for another place and another time. The remainder of this post focuses on 2141 Wylie Avenue and some of its other stories.

Continue reading