| A History of Public School No. 1
In the halls of P.S.1 one can sense the passage of time,
the sound of children, even the smell of school lunches. Its transformation from a public
school into a contemporary arts center maintains the building’s original function as
a place of gathering, learning, and enlightenment. And while certainly other historic
structures in New York City have grown old more gracefully, P.S.1 wears its age proudly,
an impressive pile of stone and brick with a rich and somewhat scandalous history.
Between 1874 and 1898, Long Island City was an independent
municipality. Like New York, Brooklyn, and Staten Island, the city had its own elected
officials, police force, and public education system. During these years the community
served as a lively transit hub, attracting both industry and businesses associated with
the Long Island Railroad, which had its principal freight and passenger depots along the
banks of the East River. Prior to construction of the Queensboro Bridge (1909), the
opening of the tunnels to Pennsylvania Station (1910), and the subway (1915) more than
50,000 passengers each day ferried to Long Island City to connect with east-going
passenger trains and trolleys.
During these years Long Island City prospered. In the last
quarter of the nineteenth century its population tripled to more than 48,000 residents.
The majorities were of Irish extraction, but the area also attracted Germans, Chinese,
Slavs and a small number of African Americans. During these years many new buildings were
constructed, including modest brick and wood frame houses, several Roman Catholic
churches, a New York State Supreme Court Building (1876), and most notably, public
schools.
Although many children attended school in the nineteenth
century, attendance did not become compulsory until 1874, just four years after Long
Island City became an incorporated municipality. Initially, though, the law provided
ineffective. With only three schools inside its borders, students were frequently turned
away. Not until the mid-1880’s, under Democratic mayor Patrick J. Gleason was this
problem seriously addressed.
Born in Tipperary, Ireland in 1843, Gleason emigrated to
the United States in 1862. During the Civil War he served the Union Army and later
returned to New York where he invested in a street railway that traveled between Calvary
Cemetery and Hunter’s Point. In this 1901 obituary, the New York Times
remembered him as:
One of the most picturesque of the striking characters
which have been brought to the front in the multifarious working of American politics
since the Civil War.
Although elected mayor of Long Island City three times
– in 1884, 1888, and 1896- his administration developed a deserved reputation for
internal corruption and criminal mismanagement. At a time when many local communities were
growing at a rapid pace, political bosses like Gleason used their power to award lucrative
contracts to friends and loyal party members. Like "Boss" Tweed’s
courthouse (1858-78) on Chambers Street in Manhattan, Gleason is primarily remembered for
the scandals that surrounded the construction of P.S1.
Gleason campaigned as a champion of the people, a friend of
the common man. On one occasion 3,500 children marched to promote of his candidacy, while
party banners publicized his commitment to free public education. In 1887 his
administration developed plans to expand Long Island City’s school system, replacing
dilapidated wood structures with modern brick ones in four wards. In 1889 Gleason
proclaimed: "no city in this sate needs school houses suitable for the education of
its children more than Long Island City". Of the four schools planned during his
administration, only the most ambitious, the First Ward Primary School, today P.S1
survives. Not surprisingly, this was Gleason’s home district he lived just blocks
away at 112 Front Street- the ward that elected him twice to the Board of Aldermen in 1881
and 1883.
In 1888 three undeveloped lots were acquired at the corner
of 9th Street and Van Alst Avenue (today 21st Street and 46th
Road) at a cost of $12,600. Although period photographs show that these Streets were yet
to be paved the site was well-chosen, visible and accessible from Jackson Avenue, a major
thoroughfare and street trolley route. Furthermore, with thriving residential areas to the
west and north and large undeveloped tracts to the east, it was clear why public
authorities anticipated growth here and the need for additional school facilities.
Construction recommenced in 1888 and 1889, yet by 1892
funds had run out at the first Ward school remained unfinished. Critics blamed Gleason,
who at the time was running for reelection against Horatio S. Stanford, a reform
candidate. Many newspapers joined in these attacks, including The New York Times
and the Long Island City Weekly Star (28 October 1892) which described the
construction as:
One of the most disgraceful pages in our local
history…hundreds of thousands of dollars have been worse than wasted in the erection
of large and showy structures that are unsuited for the purposes intended…
Gleason lost the close November contest, but not without a
fight. In the months that followed he refused to concede defeat. Not only would he not
step down, but according to J.H. Thiry, who wrote a brief history of Long Island City
schools in 1904, all of the papers and documents connected to his term "mysteriously
disappeared", specially the "contracts and specifications for four new school
houses costing a half a million dollars".
Who designed P.S1, consequently, remains a mystery. No
newspaper or journal article, book, or Board of Education reports that I have examine
during my research identifies the architect for this, or any of the for schools built by
Long Island City during this period.
Nevertheless, this issue deserves consideration and
speculation. During the last decades of the nineteenth century when immigration reached
its historic peak, dozens of new schools houses were built in the metropolitan region. The
Real Estate Record and Builder’s Guide in 1894:
Until within a year or two ago there was not an attractive
public school in New York, and scarcely one that was not positively repulsive. Of late,
however there has been a marked and gratifying improvement, and several school buildings
bear evidence of an attempt at architectural expression. None of them can be called highly
successful, but the intention is itself an earnest of better things.
In terms of overall appearance, P.S.1 does resemble other
schools built at the time such as those designed by James W. Naughton in Brooklyn, Edward
A. Sargent in Staten Island and G. W. Debevoise, although I hesitate to attribute its
design to one of these architects. This is because during the late 1800’s, the
Romanesque revival became a stock style, one frequently used in both public and private
commissions. Thus, P.S.1 was a product of fashion, an attempt by its now forgotten
architect and the Long Island City government to provide its citizens with a modern, up
to-date facility.
Under newly elected Mayor Horatio Sanford, the first Ward
school opened its doors. Writing nearly ten years later, Robert Grier described the
school’s first days in the Long Island Magazine (July 1903):
…so in 1893 our beautiful school was entered. It was
as yet unfinished, and carpenters and masons worked in one part of the building while
students studied and recited in another section not far away.
The new school had a powerful, dignified street presence.
Clad in stone, intricately laid red brick with unglazed terra cotta trim, the imposing
L-shaped structure was oriented toward the southwest. At the intersection of the two
street facades rose a square four-story open bell tower embellished with columns, finials,
and a clock with roman numerals on each of its four sides.
Although initially some critics suggested that its
thirty-five classrooms would be impossible to fill, by the summer of 1894 major
alternations were undertaken: due to increased enrollment and classroom crowding it was
necessary to divide the third floor assembly hall into individual classrooms. Grier
described this regrettable change:
This was a loss which all who have been in schools where an
assembly hall is used greatly deplore. The gathering of the classes into one large room
makes it easier for the principal to reprimand the pupils … Without an assembly hall,
to use, the referring influences if music upon the children are lost…
In January 1898 Long Island City officially became part of
greater New York and on April 15th the First Ward school was renamed Public
School 1. Soon after, proposals were made to alleviate overcrowding, first by leasing
additional classroom space on Vernon Avenue, and later, by constructing a mirror-image
addition at the school’s north side. Three lots were acquired in 1904 at cost of
$13,500 and construction began the following year.
Completed in 1906, the new addition extended the
building’s east façade, adding a second square tower and two identical gables. It
was built under the architect Charles B. J. Synder, superintendent of school buildings for
the New York Board of Education. During this period high standards were set for new school
buildings. His work was widely praised, particularly the H- shaped building plan he
popularized that provided students with open space, air, and natural light. At P.S.1, such
guidelines were followed but modified, creating a U- shaped plan with a court opening onto
a large triangular school yard at the rear. Furthermore, unlike the old wing which
consisted of mainly brick and wood, Synder’s addition utilized a fireproof steel
skeleton.
The new wing vastly improved conditions at the school. In
addition to adding twenty-one classrooms (seven to a floor), the students now enjoyed
electric lighting. Growth was clearly anticipated. With the Sunnyside Yards then under
construction, the Brooklyn Daily Eagle (6 June 1908) estimated that 7,000 railroad
company employees would seek housing in Long Island City over the next five years. Yet
enrollment at P.S.1 began to fall, from a high of 1708 students in 1900, to 1651 in 1910,
and 1460 in 1929. Conceived for as many as two thousand students, the school and the area
were likely a victim of improved transit. As the railroad yards grew and subway lines
expanded into rural Queens, Long Island City began to lose its appeal as a residential
district.
By mid-century, P.S.1 was evidently a school in decline. In
1957 it became a kindergarten through sixth grade facility, discounting both 7th
and 8th grade classes. Enrollment was now less than a thousand students, and
more than 75 percent were bused-in from the Queensbridge Houses, a government financed
housing project completed in 1939. According to the Long Island Star- Journal (12
December 1957) it became a troubled "subject school", struggling with both
"strained race relations" and "inadequate facilities".
In September 1962 the Board of Education decided to
discontinue use of the school’s older section. Although classes continued for the
rest of the year, on January 11, 1963, the building was evacuated for safety reasons and
formally closed. Students and teachers were dispersed to three schools in the area:
P.S.150, 122, and 70. More than a year later, Long Island City lost one of its most
prominent landmarks. In April 1964, the great stone clock tower was razed and the bronze
bell destroyed, leaving a prominent gap above the building’s southwest corner.
The rest of the building, however, was stabilized and
repaired. For ten years the former school was used as a municipal warehouse, storing
government records and providing office space, but in 1974 the building was closed.
Photographers from this period show the building in a sad state of disrepair, disfigured
by graffiti and broken windows. Despite city plans to auction the property and demolish
the run- down school building in 1975, P. S. 1 was rescued. Fearful of industrial
expansion in the neighborhood, a coalition of local community council members and
preservationists fought the sale and developed several schemes for its reuse, including a
community and recreation center.
Although these worthy proposals failed to attract funding,
they did delay the wrecker’s ball long enough so that the city of New York could give
the abandoned building to the newly formed Institute for Art and Resources. With a
$150,000 star-up grant from the New York State Council on the Arts, in June 1976 the 83
year-old school once again opened its timeworn doors to welcome a new generation of
the curious and even the skeptical.
Matthew A. Postal
July 1997 |
