Symbols of prosperity gain new meaning

BY AARON LICHTIG

—Minoru Yamasaki, architect, World Trade Center

COURTESY NEWSMAKERS

The powerful symbolism of the World Trade Center (WTC), as articulated by Yamasaki, was not lost on the terrorists who flew hijacked commercial jets into both of the Center's towers on Tues., Sept. 11. The attackers undoubtedly aimed to destroy man's belief in humanity, undermine his individual dignity, and cause many to lose faith in the unity of humankind, all through the destruction of one of the world's most recognizable symbols.

As rescue workers continue to pick up the pieces of this American icon, the architectural and engineering communities are left remembering the building's past, figuring out what caused the Center's collapse, and thinking about the future of the area.

In the late '60s, Yamasaki (who was selected in a competition over a dozen other American architects to receive the commission), the architecture firm Emery Roth & Sons, and engineers Leslie Robertson and John Skilling were given a Herculean task: to build 12 million square feet of floor area on a 16-acre site with a budget of just $500 million, and most importantly, to construct a building that would be "noticed."

To accomplish these goals, Yamasaki decided on the two-tower scheme, a solution that allowed him to avoid the structural problems that a tower of greater size would have created. He also gave the towers a sleek, ultra-modern look. "What I decided to do," Yamasaki said, "was the beautiful thing; beauty through structure and technology, because that's our culture."

From the observation deck 1,353 feet in the air, observers could see 45 miles in every direction. The early critical response to the building was generally positive. New York Times critic Ada Louise Huxtable called the towers "a breakthrough in terms of New York's architectural trademark—skyscraper design."

Not everyone was happy with the towers, however, which were decidedly problematic in a number of ways. They dwarfed Manhattan's contemporary skyline, bluntly over-powering the island's formerly subtle resplendence. "I never liked the buildings," observed Professor Emeritus Vincent Scully, JE '40, ARCH '47. "They were too tall, too inarticulate, too static. They threw everything out of scale."

Critical opinion morphed from euphoric to caustic soon after the center's novelty wore off. During the construction of the Center, writer Russell Baker commented that they were "constructed by battalions of exuberantly unstoppable madmen determined to keep building until the architect decided what kind of top he wants." The towers not only wreaked havoc with Manhattan's skyline, but they also created an urban desert by forcing pedestrian traffic off nearby streets. "Urbanistically they were not successful," Yale Architecture School Dean Robert Stern, ARCH '65, said. "The streets near them were completely deserted and much of the traffic was scurrying underground."

Even those who lamented the towers' presence, however, recognized their symbolic value. "They're the kind of things that you hate to love," Stern said. "Despite their problems, they transcended the interests of any one profession or group, be it architects, traders, or bankers." Yale architecture professors, including Scully, who had planned to lecture about the WTC before the tragedy struck, spoke reverently and emotionally about the towers in lectures this week. Karsten Harries told his Philosophy of Architecture class, "It's very hard to think that these buildings will never be photographed again."

While the tower's relative beauty has always been arguable, their structural integrity has never been doubted. At the time of their construction, the buildings boasted the safest and most modern construction principles available.

Their structure, based on that of the I.B.M. building in Seattle, was simple but effective. Each tower was built around a central steel core, which was surrounded by the outside wall consisting of 209' x 209' steel columns set 22" apart. Trusses supported each floor, but there were no columns between the cores and the outside walls that held up the office space without the aid of internal support. The structural steel was designed to withstand a heat of 1,600 degrees Fahrenheit for a period of 3 hours.

Taking the 1945 collision of a B-25 with the Empire State Building into account, engineers designed the WTC to withstand the impact of a 707 jet, the largest flying commercially in the U.S. in 1973. With all these safeguards in place, why did the towers crumble like sand castles beneath a tidal wave?

Engineers are now coming to some conclusions. In 2001, airplanes are larger and the fires burn hotter than they did in the early '70s. The 767 that crashed into one of the towers has a 156-foot wingspan and weighs 200 tons, making it a far larger and heavier plane than the 707. Gary Haller, Becton Professor of Engineering and Applied Sciences, said, "I'm not an expert, but I think that the higher levels of heat [from the fires] weakened the steel and the insulation was physically abated by the debris."

But why did the towers fall the way they did, imploding floor by floor from above? "It wasn't the weight; the weight is always there," Haller said. "It was the momentum of the weight [due to the weakened steel] that was sufficient to exceed the safety provision in the design. Typically, engineers plan for a safety factor of 100 percent, so it still surprises me that they fell."

The public threat may not have ended with the collapse, however. Reports from New York indicate that some of the building's insulation contained asbestos, a material common in '70s construction. Since the collapse of the towers has released this asbestos into the atmosphere, it will likely pose a health concern for New Yorkers in coming years.

Regardless of the scientific reason for the collapse, an eerie void now exists at the center of New York, a ghostly metaphor for the emptiness in the hearts of many worldwide. In place of what Houston Chronicle critic Ann Holmes once called "a stunning creation... surrounded by buildings and galleries, reminiscent again of Italy," there are now merely heaps of rubble, steel, ash, and broken glass: a runaway John Chamberlain installation, reminiscent only of Hiroshima on Aug. 7, 1945 and Beirut in 1985.

Although many Americans would like to see reconstruction efforts begin immediately, plans for restoration of the area are still taking a back seat to the rescue effort, which saw three more police officers removed from the rubble on Thurs., Sept. 13.

While the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey (which controlled the building) has not officially speculated about what will be done with the site, the architecture community is already thinking about the possibilities. There seem to be three options: rebuild the towers, build another structure, or build only a memorial honoring those who perished in the attack.

Stern feels that the most appropriate way for our country to move on is to build new towers, proving to both the perpetrators and the world community that the fires of American strength, power, and patriotism still burn brightly. "We must build something as magnificent, tall, and commanding," Stern said. "Lincoln ordered that the dome of the Capitol be finished to show the symbolic importance of the union. [The towers] were obdurate vertical masses shining out in the skyline; they could not be denied."

Scully feels that it may be too early to commit to such a costly and time-consuming endeavor. "I don't know what should be done," he said, his grin crumpling into a tortured frown. "The void is poignant; maybe that is the best memorial. Because there will undoubtedly be bodies underneath, maybe another type of memorial is appropriate."

Despite the freshness of the tragedy, some have already managed to find beauty amid the newly alien landscape of southern Manhattan Island, finding solace in the landmarks that remain. "I looked through the smoke and saw the Woolworth Building and it looks great," Scully said. "It is an image of human hope." 

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