Foor Tour 4: Downtown
Mar. 7th, 2010 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
earlgreytea68Straight off the bat on this tour, I got totally and utterly lost. I was trying to find the intersection of Atlantic Avenue and Federal Street. It told me to start at South Station to find this, so that’s where I went, but in between 1937 and 2010 (actually, I did this tour in 2009, I’m just WAY behind writing these tours up), Boston put a highway right through this piece of the city and then removed the highway right through this piece of the city, meaning it’s undergone not one, but two major transformations since the book was written. For that reason, as you can see on the map below, Atlantic Avenue and Federal Street no longer intersect.
Thank God for that map, though, which saved me from a bunch of random wandering up and down Atlantic Avenue. Having oriented myself, I set off for the first attraction.
59. Shoe Museum
I just want to say that this was way off the path of the tour, and there was a long walk between this stop and the next attraction, and I find it quite comical that the book made me walk out of my way so that I could see this random Shoe Museum. I guess it was quite something in 1937. It has 1,500 pairs of shoes then, including “Egyptian sandals dating back to 2000 B.C.; boots worn by Henry IV of France; postilion boots weighing 12 pounds each; Spanish shoes made especially to protect against snakebite.” As you can see, the Shoe Museum is no longer there, but I know I’ve got the right building because of this helpful plaque on the wall.
According to the 1937 book, the United Shoe Machinery Corporation ran the Shoe Museum, so I assume it was somewhere in this building.
The walk took me right by the now-closed original Filene’s Basement. I find it kind of terrifying to think of that enormous empty store beneath the streets of Downtown Crossing. I feel you could totally set some kind of post-apocalyptic zombie movie there.
60. Saint Paul’s Cathedral
In 1937, this was the seat of the Episcopal Bishops of Massachusetts. Built in 1819 and 1820, it is “Boston’s earliest example of the Greek Revival,” and was designed in part by the same architect who would later build Quincy Market (which the book charmingly calls “the Quincy Market”). Daniel Webster was on the building committee. I didn’t get to go inside, because there was a service going on (I never time these things correctly), but it is apparently white and “severely plain,” with “no stained glass.” Here’s something for the Anglophiles, though: “The dome of the present chancel is a reproduction of that in Saint Paul’s, London.”
61. Boston Common
Boston Common is quite large, and it’s impossible to get a shot that captures the whole thing. There are so many nooks and crannies to it. Here’s just one portion of it. According to the 1937 book, the Common is “part of a tract set aside by Governor Winthrop as a cow pasture and training field.” The paved walkways apparently follow the paths that the cows took through the Common, which explains to me why they’re so meandering and make little sense. The city’s stocks were one housed on the Common, “as well as a pen where those who desecrated the Sabbath were imprisoned.” Ah, Puritans! “Several Quakers are thought to have been hanged and buried on the Common.” I’m a little alarmed by the “and buried” part, to be honest. Both British and Massachusetts soldiers camped on the Common at different points during the Revolution, and in 1937 it was still occasionally used for military drilling. These days, it’s just a huge city park, much like Central Park. On a nice day, you come to the Common and bask in the sun, reading.
The small, columned, circular structure on the left of this picture s the Parkman Bandstand. According to the 1937 book, “Free speech has always been a privilege on the Common. Group arguments on social and economic problems are in daily progress around the Grecian Parkman Bandstand.” This is not quite so any longer. The Parkman Bandstand is primarily used these days as a landmark to help position yourself in the Common. Shakespeare on the Common takes place in the area around the Parkman Bandstand.
The 1937 book also mentions the Charles Street Mall as being a popular place for oratory. I’m not entirely sure what the “Charles Street Mall” is, as I’ve never heard anything called that. The photo above looks out toward Charles Street, so I assume that the paved walkway running through the Common parallel with Charles Street is what the 1937 book is referring to. There is not much oratory going on in the Common today, unless you count the people who sometimes shout at you as you walk through and that I avoid in the way of all city-dwellers everywhere. While that might make the Common sound scary, it’s honestly a lovely spot, very popular with natives and tourists alike, and I sometimes treat myself on nice days to walking through it after work and buying a fresh lemonade off the carts that dot the paths.
This is the Frog Pond. When I visited, it was at that awkward autumn time before it was quite cold enough to be opened for skating, which is why it looks so desolate. I guess there used to really be a pond on the Common, because the 1937 book says that the Frog Pond “is now a shallow artificial pool patronized during hot weather by little boys in various stages of undress.” I think it still is used as a wading pool in the summertime, but I’ve never been. I think it is safe to say, though, that, if it is a wading pool, boys and girls get to use it these days.
62. Crispus Attucks Monument
This was surprisingly difficult for me to locate. The only direction in the book is “set back from lawn.” I thought it might be the monument pictured below:
So I climbed out there, and that turned out to be a monument to World War II (I think). There are actually a lot of random monuments scattered throughout Boston Common. I’m guessing most of them post-date 1937, and that’s why the book was so vague in its directions. Anyway, the Crispus Attucks Monument commemorates the Boston Massacre of 1770, in which Crispus Attucks (as the book says, “A Negro”) was one of the fatalities.
63. Liberty Tree Site
The best I can figure, it is supposed to be here. The book admits that the site was “covered by a business block” even in 1937, but apparently back then the building had a carved tree on the wall. I looked all up and down this street and couldn’t find anything pointing out the Liberty Tree site, so I’m a bit at a loss. This is my best guess at where it’s supposed to be. The Library Tree, according to the book, was a “Revolutionary landmark, scene of Stamp Act meetings and frequent hangings in effigy of well-known Tories.”
64. Chinatown
I will admit right off the bat that this is an area of the city I’d never even been to before doing this walking tour. It doesn’t have a reputation for being the best part of the city, and mostly I hear that the reason to go there is that they not-so-furtively still serve alcohol after the bars downtown obey the law and close. According to the book, there should be “a group of small native shops, principally markets, the latter displaying in their windows strings of strange-looking sausages and small wire hanging baskets of ancient eggs.
And look! It’s still a bit true!
The book says the Chinese Bulletin, “a news sheet in native characters,” is posted daily on the corner of Oxford Street. All that’s on the corner of Oxford Street these days is this sign.
In 1937, this was “a district crowded with Chinese restaurants and Oriental curio shops.” And it still kind of is.
This is Kneeland Street, which, in 1937, was “the center of the ready-made dress business of New England. Wholesale houses and wokshops crowd the district, and on warm days the hum of hundreds of sewing machines can be heard through the open windows.” Not so much anymore. It’s kind of just a nondescript street now.
65. Wilbur Theatre
Still there! It’s a comedy club now. This is where I saw Craig Ferguson! According to the 1937 book, it was built in 1913 and “is an adaptation of late Georgian Colonial architecture.” Apparently, “it is one of the first auditoriums to be designed with scientific knowledge of acoustics, Professor Sabine of Harvard, pioneer in the field, being the consultant.”
66. Statues along Boylston Street Mall
There is no longer a Boylston Street Mall, really. At least, not anything that’s called that. I figured out that it’s now just considered part of the Boston Public Garden. At least, that’s where I found the statues. The first statue is supposed to be Wendell Phillips, who lived from 1811 to 1884 and was known as the “Champion of the Slave.” I could not locate this statue, alas.
I did find this statue of Thaddeus Kosciuszko, who lived from 1746 to 1817 and was “the popular Polish patriot who served under Washington.” I have never heard of him before. The book calls him “handsome” and “young.”
Charles Sumner, “one of the leading abolitionist senators.” Wasn’t he the one who was hit in the head with a cane during an altercation in Congress? Am I making this up? I might be.
67. Boylston Street Subway
There is still a Boylston subway stop, but it has apparently been moved, because it is not “opposite the Sumner statue,” as the 1937 book told me it would be. Or maybe the statue’s been moved. At any rate, opened in 1897, it was the first subway in the United States. These days, the closest T stop to the Sumner statue is this one:
68. William Ellery Channing Statue
Channing, who lived from 1780 to 1842, was a leader of the Unitarian movement in America.
69. Natural History Museum
This no longer exists, but I think it must have been this building, which now is the home of some fancy store or restaurant or something called Louis Boston. It’s way out of my price range, which is how I have no real idea what it is. Anyway, this building looks to me like the “Palladian structure of brick and brownstone” that used to house the museum.
And I’d just like to note that the 1937 book has nothing at all to say about this fascinating building that is opposite the old Natural History Museum:
Thank God for that map, though, which saved me from a bunch of random wandering up and down Atlantic Avenue. Having oriented myself, I set off for the first attraction.
59. Shoe Museum
I just want to say that this was way off the path of the tour, and there was a long walk between this stop and the next attraction, and I find it quite comical that the book made me walk out of my way so that I could see this random Shoe Museum. I guess it was quite something in 1937. It has 1,500 pairs of shoes then, including “Egyptian sandals dating back to 2000 B.C.; boots worn by Henry IV of France; postilion boots weighing 12 pounds each; Spanish shoes made especially to protect against snakebite.” As you can see, the Shoe Museum is no longer there, but I know I’ve got the right building because of this helpful plaque on the wall.
According to the 1937 book, the United Shoe Machinery Corporation ran the Shoe Museum, so I assume it was somewhere in this building.
The walk took me right by the now-closed original Filene’s Basement. I find it kind of terrifying to think of that enormous empty store beneath the streets of Downtown Crossing. I feel you could totally set some kind of post-apocalyptic zombie movie there.
60. Saint Paul’s Cathedral
In 1937, this was the seat of the Episcopal Bishops of Massachusetts. Built in 1819 and 1820, it is “Boston’s earliest example of the Greek Revival,” and was designed in part by the same architect who would later build Quincy Market (which the book charmingly calls “the Quincy Market”). Daniel Webster was on the building committee. I didn’t get to go inside, because there was a service going on (I never time these things correctly), but it is apparently white and “severely plain,” with “no stained glass.” Here’s something for the Anglophiles, though: “The dome of the present chancel is a reproduction of that in Saint Paul’s, London.”
61. Boston Common
Boston Common is quite large, and it’s impossible to get a shot that captures the whole thing. There are so many nooks and crannies to it. Here’s just one portion of it. According to the 1937 book, the Common is “part of a tract set aside by Governor Winthrop as a cow pasture and training field.” The paved walkways apparently follow the paths that the cows took through the Common, which explains to me why they’re so meandering and make little sense. The city’s stocks were one housed on the Common, “as well as a pen where those who desecrated the Sabbath were imprisoned.” Ah, Puritans! “Several Quakers are thought to have been hanged and buried on the Common.” I’m a little alarmed by the “and buried” part, to be honest. Both British and Massachusetts soldiers camped on the Common at different points during the Revolution, and in 1937 it was still occasionally used for military drilling. These days, it’s just a huge city park, much like Central Park. On a nice day, you come to the Common and bask in the sun, reading.
The small, columned, circular structure on the left of this picture s the Parkman Bandstand. According to the 1937 book, “Free speech has always been a privilege on the Common. Group arguments on social and economic problems are in daily progress around the Grecian Parkman Bandstand.” This is not quite so any longer. The Parkman Bandstand is primarily used these days as a landmark to help position yourself in the Common. Shakespeare on the Common takes place in the area around the Parkman Bandstand.
The 1937 book also mentions the Charles Street Mall as being a popular place for oratory. I’m not entirely sure what the “Charles Street Mall” is, as I’ve never heard anything called that. The photo above looks out toward Charles Street, so I assume that the paved walkway running through the Common parallel with Charles Street is what the 1937 book is referring to. There is not much oratory going on in the Common today, unless you count the people who sometimes shout at you as you walk through and that I avoid in the way of all city-dwellers everywhere. While that might make the Common sound scary, it’s honestly a lovely spot, very popular with natives and tourists alike, and I sometimes treat myself on nice days to walking through it after work and buying a fresh lemonade off the carts that dot the paths.
This is the Frog Pond. When I visited, it was at that awkward autumn time before it was quite cold enough to be opened for skating, which is why it looks so desolate. I guess there used to really be a pond on the Common, because the 1937 book says that the Frog Pond “is now a shallow artificial pool patronized during hot weather by little boys in various stages of undress.” I think it still is used as a wading pool in the summertime, but I’ve never been. I think it is safe to say, though, that, if it is a wading pool, boys and girls get to use it these days.
62. Crispus Attucks Monument
This was surprisingly difficult for me to locate. The only direction in the book is “set back from lawn.” I thought it might be the monument pictured below:
So I climbed out there, and that turned out to be a monument to World War II (I think). There are actually a lot of random monuments scattered throughout Boston Common. I’m guessing most of them post-date 1937, and that’s why the book was so vague in its directions. Anyway, the Crispus Attucks Monument commemorates the Boston Massacre of 1770, in which Crispus Attucks (as the book says, “A Negro”) was one of the fatalities.
63. Liberty Tree Site
The best I can figure, it is supposed to be here. The book admits that the site was “covered by a business block” even in 1937, but apparently back then the building had a carved tree on the wall. I looked all up and down this street and couldn’t find anything pointing out the Liberty Tree site, so I’m a bit at a loss. This is my best guess at where it’s supposed to be. The Library Tree, according to the book, was a “Revolutionary landmark, scene of Stamp Act meetings and frequent hangings in effigy of well-known Tories.”
64. Chinatown
I will admit right off the bat that this is an area of the city I’d never even been to before doing this walking tour. It doesn’t have a reputation for being the best part of the city, and mostly I hear that the reason to go there is that they not-so-furtively still serve alcohol after the bars downtown obey the law and close. According to the book, there should be “a group of small native shops, principally markets, the latter displaying in their windows strings of strange-looking sausages and small wire hanging baskets of ancient eggs.
And look! It’s still a bit true!
The book says the Chinese Bulletin, “a news sheet in native characters,” is posted daily on the corner of Oxford Street. All that’s on the corner of Oxford Street these days is this sign.
In 1937, this was “a district crowded with Chinese restaurants and Oriental curio shops.” And it still kind of is.
This is Kneeland Street, which, in 1937, was “the center of the ready-made dress business of New England. Wholesale houses and wokshops crowd the district, and on warm days the hum of hundreds of sewing machines can be heard through the open windows.” Not so much anymore. It’s kind of just a nondescript street now.
65. Wilbur Theatre
Still there! It’s a comedy club now. This is where I saw Craig Ferguson! According to the 1937 book, it was built in 1913 and “is an adaptation of late Georgian Colonial architecture.” Apparently, “it is one of the first auditoriums to be designed with scientific knowledge of acoustics, Professor Sabine of Harvard, pioneer in the field, being the consultant.”
66. Statues along Boylston Street Mall
There is no longer a Boylston Street Mall, really. At least, not anything that’s called that. I figured out that it’s now just considered part of the Boston Public Garden. At least, that’s where I found the statues. The first statue is supposed to be Wendell Phillips, who lived from 1811 to 1884 and was known as the “Champion of the Slave.” I could not locate this statue, alas.
I did find this statue of Thaddeus Kosciuszko, who lived from 1746 to 1817 and was “the popular Polish patriot who served under Washington.” I have never heard of him before. The book calls him “handsome” and “young.”
Charles Sumner, “one of the leading abolitionist senators.” Wasn’t he the one who was hit in the head with a cane during an altercation in Congress? Am I making this up? I might be.
67. Boylston Street Subway
There is still a Boylston subway stop, but it has apparently been moved, because it is not “opposite the Sumner statue,” as the 1937 book told me it would be. Or maybe the statue’s been moved. At any rate, opened in 1897, it was the first subway in the United States. These days, the closest T stop to the Sumner statue is this one:
68. William Ellery Channing Statue
Channing, who lived from 1780 to 1842, was a leader of the Unitarian movement in America.
69. Natural History Museum
This no longer exists, but I think it must have been this building, which now is the home of some fancy store or restaurant or something called Louis Boston. It’s way out of my price range, which is how I have no real idea what it is. Anyway, this building looks to me like the “Palladian structure of brick and brownstone” that used to house the museum.
And I’d just like to note that the 1937 book has nothing at all to say about this fascinating building that is opposite the old Natural History Museum:
