OTIS PRATT PEARSALL'S REMINISCENCES OF THE NINE YEAR EFFORT TO DESIGNATE BROOKLYN HEIGHTS AS NEW YORK CITYS FIRST HISTORIC DISTRICAND ITS FIRST LIMITED HEIGHT DISTRICT

Delivered by Mr. Pearsall at Brooklyn Borough Hall, March 8, 1993, on the occasion of receiving the Historic Districts Council's 1993 Landmark Lion Award.

Otis Pratt Pearsall recounts the tale of the designation of Brooklyn Heights as a historic district.

I recognize, of course, that in honoring me, what we are actually doing is taking a moment to look back for some sense of our collective roots; celebrating the beginnings, some 35 years ago, of an incredible success story--the importance of which to our city today could scarcely have been imagined by that band of urban pioneers who in the fall of 1958 first gathered in the undercroft of the First Unitarian Church.

And so I'm proud to accept this award--on behalf of that original group and the many others who worked with the Brooklyn Heights Association over the seven long years it took to achieve designation of the Heights as our first historic district, on November 23, 1965.

Although no one has offered a very satisfactory explanation, in 1956, '57 and '58 significant numbers of young professionals, my wife, Nancy and I among them, began moving into Brooklyn Heights, and for the first time, certainly in New York­ and I'm told perhaps anywhere in urban America--a declining downtown neighborhood turned around. By the fall of 1958, these newcomers to gracious living in charming period houses on tranquil, tree-lined streets just across from Wall Street spotted serious threats to their new-found way of civilized urban life, and they began meeting regularly in the undercroft of the Rev. Donald McKinney's First Unitarian Church--the same Don McKinney, by the way, who marched with Dr. King, and for over 30 years (as Rector of Minard LaFever's splendid 1844 church) nurtured so much of what has been good for our community.

The most important of these perceived threats were the well-advanced plan of Bob Moses' Slum Clearance Committee to replace the deteriorating northeast corner of the Heights with high-rise luxury-priced rental efficiencies, the accelerating destruction and defacement of houses at the hands of an expanding institutions, and developers taking advantage of the neighborhood's economic upturn.

Calling themselves the Community Conservation and Improvement Council--CCIC, pronounced "Kick"-the newcomers set out to challenge Moses' Cadman Plaza Project, believing that if it could not be stopped it should at least be converted from a haven for wealthy transients to family-sized middle-income cooperatives for people who would stay and contribute to the community. And a second CCIC committee set about trying to figure out whether the Heights could perhaps be preserved through some sort of esthetic or historic zoning controls.

The Brooklyn Heights Association, which had successfully defended the interests of the community since 1910, and only a few years earlier had saved the Heights from Moses' devastating plan to bisect it with the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway-but which was at this time a bit staid--to its great credit reacted positively and with alacrity to CCIC's preservation ideas. The Association's Housing Committee, under Bill Fisher, was designated to coordinate with the new group--which in turn reciprocated by appointing Bill a CCIC co-chair. Through that crucial, formative spring of 1959, the two groups worked closely together, and within a year the CCIC activists' youthful energies were absorbed into the Association. Thenceforth the preservation battle was waged under a single, unified banner.

From the outset CCIC was generally aware of the Beacon Hill historic district established by the Massachusetts legislature two years earlier, and from the National Trust we obtained the texts of a number of other historic district zoning ordinances and a practical "How To" booklet entitled "Preservation of Historic Districts By Architectural Controls," authored by John Codman, the guiding spirit of the Beacon Hill success, and based on the actual experience of the Beacon Hill Civic Association.

Most importantly, however, included in the National Trust package was a copy of the Bard Law, a simple, one-paragraph enabling act authored by Albert S. Bard--an expert on the law of zoning and city planning who had devoted a lifetime to good citizenship-which was enacted by the New York legislature in 1956 to empower cities to adopt regulations to protect "places, buildings, structures, works of art, and other objects having a special character or special historical or esthetic interest or value."

For us do-it-yourself preservationists this was pretty exciting stuff. The basic authority for what we wanted to do was already there, but were we really a place having "special historical or esthetic value?" While there were many enthusiastic young architects in our group, they were, of course, all trained in the contemporary vein and, though reasonably confident of our ground, lacked authoritative architectural history expertise.

Any question on that score, however, was short-lived since almost immediately there came to hand three crucial booklets: Huron Jackson's 1952 Guide to New York Architecture (prepared with the assistance of the A.I.A. New York Chapter, the Municipal Art Society, the Society of Architectural Historians and Prof. James Grote Van Derpool for distribution to delegates attending the 84th Convention of the A.I.A.,) the Municipal Art Society's 1957 index of architecturally notable structures in New York City entitled New York Landmarks, and the brand new report of the Joint Committee on Design Control of the N.Y. Chapter, A.I.A., and the N.Y. Regional Chapter, A.I.P., published by the Regional Plan Association in May, 1958 and entitled Planning and Community Appearance.

More than half the Brooklyn structures listed in the 1952 A.I.A. Guide were in Brooklyn Heights and to our delight the Heights was singled out for a laudatory preamble which observed that "This neighborhood, having remained outside the main stream of great population increases for a relatively long period, has remained intact to a much greater extent than comparable neighborhoods in Manhattan, such as Greenwich Village or Chelsea." Similarly, Heights structures conspicuously weighted the Brooklyn index compiled by the Municipal Art Society's Committee on Historic Architecture. But the hefty report of the Joint Committee on Design Control was the piece de resistance, commenting specifically that the endangered areas of historic and esthetic value which the 1956 New York Bard Law was drawn to protect were exemplified in New York City by Greenwich Village and Brooklyn Heights. That for us was the touchdown: we had the enabling act we needed and we now knew we could make the case for special historical or esthetic value. What could be simpler.

A critical source of encouragement in this formative period was Richard Margolis, publisher and editor of the Brooklyn Heights Press. With the advent of CCIC and the mini-rivalry it stimulated with the Brooklyn Heights Association, Margolis had the wisdom to sense that a genuinely important movement was emerging and he played it up big. He had published CCIC's Statement of Objectives announced in late December 1958 which included our first guarded suggestion of historic zoning, though for the moment this element of the program seemed overshadowed by the drama of the sudden challenge to Moses' well-greased plan on Cadman Plaza. But by the end of February 1959, bolstered by these publications supporting our case, and reassured by the enthusiastic encouragement of architectural historian Henry Hope Reed with whom we had made contact, the Brooklyn Heights Association and CCIC went public with their joint proposal for Brooklyn Heights historic zoning and Margolis gave it banner headlines.

The next week in his editorial entitled "How to Make History," Margolis waxed euphoric about the "zoning plan that would preserve the Heights forever as an historic area." He observed:

This plan is based on the State Bard Law which enables cities to make regulations to protect areas of architectural and historic significance. If accepted by the City Planning Commission and the Board of Estimate, historic zoning would virtually guarantee stability on the Heights. The community would be free of all the predatory monsters that traditionally devour a neighborhood--the crowded rooming houses, the super block-high income developments, the institutional dormitories.

The "if" in Margolis' rhetoric turned out to be a very big one indeed, but from that point forward, throughout the seven years it in fact took to get the job done, Margolis and his successors at the Brooklyn Heights Press were at every opportunity solid supporters of Brooklyn Heights historic zoning.

At the same time we went public, we were reaching out to the city-wide organizations we hoped would be supportive. The most important of these for our purposes was the Municipal Art Society, and at Henry Hope Reed's suggestion in late February, 1959 we wrote its President, George Hopper Fitch, explaining our project and seeking help and advice. Fitch responded at once by appointing a special subcommittee of Alan Burnham's Committee on Historic Architecture to offer us every possible encouragement, consisting of Burnham, Henry Hope Reed and Albert S. Bard, himself, who was then in his 92nd year.

This immediately led to one of the most memorable of our movement's defining moments, the gathering hosted by Mrs. Darwin James, herself an MAS Board member, in the sumptuous top floor apartment of her Richard Upjohn Heights townhouse overlooking the harbor, with the MAS special committee, including the sprightly Mr. Bard. The discussion was excitedly animated and clear-cut that Brooklyn Heights had every entitlement to become the first historic district under the Bard law. When it was over, and Messrs. Bard and Burnham disappeared up Willow Street enthusiastically pointing out to each other architectural gems along the way. I was left with the euphoric sense that we were onto an idea that was truly meant to be.

It bears noting that over the next crucial years the Municipal Art Society and the Brooklyn Heights Association enjoyed a peculiarly synergistic, reciprocally reinforcing relationship. As MAS pressed the landmarks cause from a relatively narrow-based, cultural vantage point that risked appearing elitist, the loud, grass-roots clamoring of an actual community demanding immediate historic district status validated the cause with the politicians, thus in the end enabling both groups to achieve their fundamental goal.

Having satisfied ourselves that the legal structure was available and the architectural history case was there to be made, the next step was to make it. Inquiries to Henry Reed, Alan Burnham, Wayne Andrews (who was President of the Society of Architectural Historians,) and Maud Dillard all pointed to the same place, to the greatly respected architectural historian Clay Lancaster-who, unknown to us, was living right under our noses at 18 Cranberry Street. Despite everything, when it comes right down to it, no one can ever rightfully claim that we didn't have more than our share of luck.

On April 1st we slipped a letter in Clay's mail box explaining our historic zoning goal, our need for a survey to provide accurate, detailed, authoritative evidence, and our hope that he might be prevailed upon to assist. We met the next day and not only was he willing, he had been tempted for some time to do the very same thing on his own, and was now delighted to have the occasion and excuse to proceed.

Modest and unassuming, but toweringly authoritative, and in his own way exceedingly tough-minded, the learned Clay became our intellectual guru. He educated and inspired us, and his exhaustive report on more than 600 preCivil War Heights houses, published in book form by Charles Tuttle in October, 1961 as "Old Brooklyn Heights, New York's First Suburb," became the sustaining, evidentiary linchpin of our entire effort. Under his tutelage, the dates, styles and myriad decorative details indigenous to the Heights became second nature to us. His many slide lectures, Heights Press articles, and walking tours aroused an almost religious fervor in an entire neighborhood of recently converted preservationists, and I have not the slightest doubt that the uncontested credibility and solid -scholarship he accorded our case, far more than any other factor, was responsible for our priority in ultimately attaining the City's first historic district designation.

With Clay launched on his pivotal house-by-house, street-by-street survey, two further defining events transpired before this multifaceted explosion of activity that gave birth to our historic zoning movement succumbed to the summer doldrums. These events were CCIC's wildly successful town meeting held in the Bossert Hotel ballroom on April 21, 1959, and the significantly less propitious proposal of a full-blown city-wide landmark preservation law at the City Planning Commission hearings in April and May on the proposed new Zoning Resolution.

On the morning of the town meeting, the New York Times published a glowingly supportive full column report headlined, "Brooklynites Set Action on Heights, Residents Meet Tonight to Discuss How To Preserve Community's Charm, Seek To Use State Law, Ask City To Invoke Measure To Protect Area's Historic and Esthetic Values." A day or so earlier the Brooklyn Heights Press had published a special four page CCIC Supplement filled with articles on Heights preservation by Henry Reed, Alan Burnham and others, plus photos of the recent house demolition along Willow Street. And that evening, in what was said to be the largest nonpolitical meeting ever .held in the Heights up to that time, a more-than capacity crowd of over 400 crammed in to hear why Brooklyn Heights needed Historic Zoning, what it was, and how we planned to achieve it. The atmosphere was electric, charged with enthusiasm and excited expectation, and left no doubt that in addition to legal authority under the Bard Law and a good architectural history case, we could now count on a third crucial element, overwhelming community support.

Almost simultaneously, however, we tested the political waters and discovered to our disappointment though not surprise that, rather than quick success, the idea of Historic Zoning for Brooklyn Heights likely faced an indeterminate period of gestation before it was realistic that the community's enthusiasm would be embraced by our City Fathers. Fortuitously, the City Planning Commission in February had unveiled its plan for a wholly new Zoning Resolution, and encouraging contacts with the Planning Department suggested that hearings scheduled for the spring would present a perfect opportunity to air our proposal. Some of us felt that the best chance for success was to minimize real estate industry opposition by presenting the narrowest profile, with an ordinance like Beacon Hill's, limited specifically to Brooklyn Heights. Arden Rathkopf, however, argued that only a City-wide ordinance had any realistic chance of inclusion in the new Zoning Resolution and, bowing to his far greater experience, we went along. Arden, backed by Arthur Hooker (the original chairman of CCIC'S Statute Committee,) proceeded to draft a complete City-wide Landmarks Law, echoes of which still strongly resonate in the version actually adopted six years later and, together with Ted Reid, unsuccessfully urged it upon the Planning Commission at the April 13th and May 19th hearings in Manhattan and Brooklyn. [The proposal is reprinted on page 23 of this issue.]

In retrospect, it was naive for us to think that Planning Chairman James Felt, whom we would later discover to be a great friend of preservation, would add to the immense difficulties he already faced in accomplishing his complete zoning reform by taking on at the same time the predictable, incremental controversy and real estate opposition implicit in our landmarks law. We resolved to watch for a more opportune moment, meanwhile building our case and keeping it in the public eye.

But from that point forward, until mid-August 1962 when Mr. Felt finally informed us we had no choice but to await enactment of a City-wide ordinance, we single-mindedly pushed for a standalone Brooklyn Heights Historic District, in the image of Beacon Hill, on the theory that since we were ready and willing, we should be permitted to go first, rather than stand by and suffer possibly years of destruction while the rest of the City caught up.

The next two years (1960-1961) are a blur of all manner of activity, preparing the huge color-coded maps, identifying every Heights building by date and style, converting Clay Lancaster's detailed report into book form, developing battle plans, organizing committees, delivering speeches, coffee clatches in every corner of the Heights to explain the program, public relations and reaching out to local politicians. But the outstanding occasions were the Brooklyn Heights Association's Golden Jubilee annual meeting in May, 1960-attended by more than 700 people in the St. George Hotel ballroom, at which Clay's friend, Richard H. Howland, President of the National Trust, beat an eloquent drum for Heights preservation-­and the annual meeting the following May, also well attended, where John Codman, the Beacon Hill realtor who had accomplished that community's historic zoning, drove home by vivid example the Heights' destiny to achieve no less. Before leaving town, at a private gathering of virtually all the Heights' realtors, Codman explained from a realtor's perspective the tangible benefits realtors could anticipate from preservation. It was notable that as the struggle progressed they were to a man among our strongest supporters.

By the fall of 1961 all our preparations were complete. Most important, the publisher Charles Tuttle had delivered the advance copies of Clay's beautifully produced hard cover book, Old Brooklyn Heights, New York's First Suburb. The large, colored style-and-date maps were finished, and based on them, we had prepared an intriguing chart showing (for the 1192 structures within our then anticipated district boundaries) the number of buildings of each style constructed decade by decade, together with a variety of other statistical breakdowns. In addition, we finally had in the form of an amendment to the Zoning Resolution a complete, agreed-upon ordinance establishing the stand-alone historic district of Old Brooklyn Heights and, in the Department of Buildings, an Old Brooklyn Heights Architectural Commission to administer it. Moreover, we were assisted by the National Trust's annual meeting held in New York in October, which occasioned an elaborate and enthusiastically received Association-sponsored and led walking tour of the Heights for the Trust's many attendees.

In short, we were as ready as we'd ever be. Given the Mayor's appointment in July of a Committee for the Preservation of Structures of Historic and Esthetic Importance, chaired by Geoffrey Platt, to work with the City Planning Commission to develop a city-wide program, we concluded it was now' or never to make a determined try for Brooklyn Heights priority.

Our first step was to meet in October (1961) with City Planning Chairman, James Felt who, of course, was already well aware of our efforts and purpose. Equipped with Clay's book and our vastly impressive maps, we argued that Brooklyn Heights had already done its homework, was richly deserving of preservation, was threatened by continual instances of demolition and defacement, was united in its readiness to accept immediate historic zoning, and should not be made to wait indefinitely for resolution of the city-wide problem. Felt listened attentively, asked interested questions and expressed warm support for our general objectives. But, while not saying "no" he seemed noncommittal on immediate action for the Heights, and urged us to work with Platt's group which he had been instrumental in setting up the previous summer. Following up with encouraging letters to the same effect, shortly thereafter he sent the message yet again in a New York Times article occasioned by publication of Clay's book, in which he "applauded the general aim to preserve the character of Brooklyn Heights," but directed us to the Mayor's Committee.

While we feared that coordinating with the Mayor's Committee would entangle and bog us down in the morass of the city-wide problem, we nevertheless concluded we should do so. We reasoned that if it should prove politically possible to achieve priority action for the Heights, we would have lost nothing. On the other hand, if such a solution were not in the cards, our fate might depend on the Mayor's Committee--in which case its education concerning the Heights should begin at once.

Our initial contact was certainly pleasant enough. Mrs. James arranged lunch at her wonderful house with Harmon Goldstone, the Committee member closest to Platt. He was enthusiastic about the Heights, Clay's book, and all that we had done. Offering us genuine encouragement, he, too, urged a prompt meeting with Platt, and this finally occurred a few weeks later, on December 22, 1961.

Our presentation to Platt was essentially the same as to Felt, as we sought to persuade him to support an immediate ordinance for the Heights without bogging us down interminably in the city-wide problem. Thereafter we had many meetings with Platt and established a cordial relationship, but while, as we'd hoped, this process clearly contributed to the Heights' ultimate designation, I must be frank to say that from our first meeting onward Platt seemed wholly absorbed by the complexity of developing a viable preservation approach for the entire City, and exhibited absolutely no patience with our desire to make the Heights an immediate priority.

Undeterred, on April 30, 1962 the Association formally dispatched to Mayor Wagner and every other relevant city, state and federal official we could think of our Brooklyn Heights preservation proposal, including our statute, a map showing the boundaries of the proposed district, an expanded chart of our date and style statistics, and an eloquent press release that pitched our case. The proposal received extensive, favorable coverage in the Herald Tribune and other dailies, with the Tribune reporting that:

Builders of high-rise apartment houses have their eye on the Heights, and Geoffrey Platt, Chairman of the Landmarks Preservation Commission believes the district should have first priority in any effort to preserve what is left of old New York.

In retrospect, an interesting feature of our proposal was the matter of district boundaries, since with two exceptions the Association's proposed boundaries, as amended in light of community reaction, were those ultimately adopted by the Landmarks Commission. Although most of the Heights was included, certain peripheral areas were either excluded altogether or included only within dotted, trial-balloon "alternative boundaries," reflecting the Association's concern that development plans for or real estate interests in these areas might embroil the overall proposal in political controversy that would delay or defeat it altogether. The prevailing sentiment was, let's try to get the bulk of the Heights protected as quickly as we can and later, to the extent practical, push out the margins.

The most obvious exclusion, of course, was the Cadman Plaza Title I Redevelopment Site and what I will call the Morgan Stanley building block to the south. These sites had long been designated for development by the time our efforts began in 1958, and Moses' plans for Cadman Plaza were so far along that not only the Association but also the youthful activists in CCIC believed that it could not be stopped, only perhaps changed in character.

There was no question that much of importance was at stake in these sites, including Frank Freeman's 1894 pedimented Brooklyn Savings Bank at Pierrepont and Clinton Streets, which had been one of the first signs of the Chicago World's Fair influence in the New York area, the Saracenic architecture of the 1894 former Crescent Athletic Club just north of the bank on the east side of Clinton Street, the Greek Revival structure at Cranberry and Fulton Streets (where in 1855 Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass was first printed,) and a wealth of handsome, if now decayed, early houses and commercial buildings-which, had they survived, surely would have been restored to their former glory as an integral part of the Heights fabric.

Many, particularly in the North Heights, argued for inclusion of the Cadman Plaza site within the historic district. On May 2, 1961, at the behest of Martin S. James, a professor of art at Brooklyn College who has made many contributions to the Heights and ultimately served as an Association governor, Brooks Atkinson published a powerful "Critic at Large" column in the New York Times arguing the obvious merit of preserving the more than 75 buildings of historical or architectural significance in this corner of the Heights. The Association, however, swallowing hard, adhered in its April 30, 1962 proposal to its tough-minded judgment that the Cadman Plaza project was an irreversible fait accompli beyond its realistic power to prevent, and that entangling Cadman Plaza with the historic zoning issue would involve an unacceptable risk to the larger goal of Heights preservation.

Apart from Cadman Plaza, the Association's proposed boundaries demonstrated--by means of dotted lines--uncertainty on including the western part of Willowtown, the commercial strip on the west side of Court Street south of Livingston Street, the Montague Street commercial strip, and the west side of Henry Street between Middagh and Pineapple Streets opposite the redevelopment site. Excluded altogether were the north side of Atlantic Avenue, which was the subject of an ongoing urban renewal study, the St. George Hotel block, the south side of Poplar Street, and Block 207, the northernmost in the Heights, which was technically a late addition to the Cadman Plaza site. This block, while not yet the subject of a specific development plan, and clearly on a separate track, also appeared to present the entanglement issue.

To our delight, the immediate response to these boundaries indicated we had underestimated our support, and we hastened to make amends by issuing two weeks later a revised map that included all of Willowtown, Montague Street and a dotted alternate boundary around the north side of Atlantic Avenue. Now a "Committee for the Alternate Boundary" sprang up and, eventually, on December 2, 1964, the day before the City Council hearing on the Landmarks Law, we issued our final map definitively including the north side of Atlantic Avenue and the west side of Henry Street opposite the Cadman Plaza site, definitively excluding the Court Street commercial strip previously in doubt, and adhering to our entanglement rationale by excluding the St. George Hotel block and Block 207 up at the north end.

While I am now getting well ahead of the story, I'll close out the matter of boundaries by skipping to our September, 1965 presentation to an executive session of the Landmarks Commission, which amounted to the dress rehearsal for the Brooklyn Heights hearing the Commission proposed to schedule for November. Platt felt strongly that except for the Cadman Plaza project and the built up commercial section on the eastern edge, Brooklyn Heights should be treated as a single homogenous entity. He recognized that the St. George block might some day undergo alterations or even complete reconstruction. In addition, he recognized that while Block 207 consisted in part of undistinguished modern structures which should one day be replaced, it also boasted the Ruskinian Gothic Children's Aid Society Building-as well as a number of other 19th Century vernacular structures which should be protected as part of the district. His view, therefore, was that the Landmarks Commission's jurisdiction would be important when and if redevelopment occurred in these blocks, to assure that it would be consonant with the character of the Historic District. Having left these blocks out in the first place only because of the anticipated difficulty of including them, we were heartened by the strength of Platt's support and enthusiastically agreed that our proposed boundary, which was otherwise accepted as presented, should be adjusted to include them both.

Parenthetically, twenty-eight years later, the ultimate benefit of this decision to include the St. George block is, of course, yet to be determined. What we do know for certain is that the decision on Block 207 proved critical to preventing its wholesale redevelopment and, eventually, to the successful preservation and restoration of its many 19th century buildings, including the splendid 1883 orphanage, and to the excellent design by Charles Platt of its infill row houses.

At the Brooklyn Heights Association's May, 1962 annual meeting, Congressman Hugh Carey, stated that he--and, he believed, all of our other political representatives-supported in principle the Association's April 30th proposal. In June, Milton Mollen, Chairman of the City's Housing and Redevelopment Board, appeared to do likewise. But despite this support, it was soon evident that while we had given it our best shot, the excitement surrounding the announcement of our proposal was the last hurrah for the concept of a stand-alone Old Brooklyn Heights Historic District.

On April 21, 1962, in response to the uproar over plans to demolish Stanford White's Pennsylvania Station, Mayor Wagner appointed Geoffrey Platt Chairman of a new twelve member Landmarks Preservation Commission, replacing the Mayor's earlier Committee, and having responsibility, among other things, for preparing within a year a detailed landmarks legislative program.

While we obviously recognized the tremendous importance of the Mayor's action and supported it wholeheartedly, we nevertheless continued to hope for priority action on Brooklyn Heights, and to that end early in the summer collected the signatures of over 2,000 residents, including over one-third of the property owners, on petitions supporting our stand-alone district proposal. But the moment of truth finally came on August 12th, when in the course of a CBS television panel discussion, City Planning Commission Chairman James Felt pronounced himself once again enthusiastically supportive of Brooklyn Heights historic zoning, but spelled out for us clearly, so there could be no mistake, that it was not going to be practical to accomplish this other than through the new Landmarks Preservation Commission, as part of the city-wide legislative solution.

Like it or not, that was it. Our ultimate fate was now exclusively in the hands of the Commission, to which we fortunately gained access when, through the good offices of Hugh Carey, Mayor Wagner on October 30, 1962 appointed Bill Fisher a member.

But not having any idea how long we might have to wait, we decided to take action on our own to limit, so far as possible, the interim damage. Accordingly, that fall the Association organized its Design Advisory Council, consisting mostly of architects under Chairman Edward Rullman, whose function was to provide free advice, short of actual plans, for appropriate work on facades. The Council immediately set to work showering every Heights property owner with educational materials on the types and original characteristics of our architecture, the owner's responsibilities to himself, his neighbors and the community, appropriate practices in renovation and restoration, and how to access the Council's services. In fact, owners did solicit the advice of the Council's architects in innumerable cases, and without doubt this remarkable do-it-yourself historic preservation program was directly responsible for the minimal damage suffered over the next three years prior to designation.

By January, 1963, the Landmarks Law had already gone through two or three drafts and by April it was approaching final form. Yet for reasons on which I'm no longer clear-if indeed I ever was--the finished bill was not introduced into the City Council until October 6, 1964. Meanwhile, under its able Executive Director, James Grote Van Derpool, the Commission's staff, which included Henry Hope Reed, proceeded with its responsibility to identify proposed landmarks, and by July 21, 1963 was able to give us a moment's cheer by reporting in the New York Times that, in addition to 300 individual buildings, the Commission had tentatively designated Greenwich Village and Brooklyn Heights as historic districts. This good news was again publicly confirmed in the October 7, 1964 New York Times article announcing the bill's introduction into the City Council, and, incidentally, noting that the Brooklyn Heights district would encompass 1192 structures, the same figure we had provided Platt in December, 1961, before the expansion of our proposed boundaries.

We now really were in the home stretch. In recognition of our frontrunner status, Platt came to Brooklyn Heights in November 1964 to address a town meeting at Plymouth Church on the meaning for the Heights of the proposed statute and, I believe, to gauge for himself the temper of the community which up to now he knew only through our representations. If reassurance was what he wanted he certainly got it. Despite a cold and rainy night, an enthusiastic audience of 250 turned out to cheer both Mr. Platt and another of Clay Lancaster's inspiring slide presentations on our architectural wealth--and on some of the architectural losses that historic zoning could have prevented.

Immediately prior to the December 3rd, 1964 City Council hearing on the landmarks preservation statute, the Association arranged for delivery of a copy of the Brooklyn Heights book to every councilman, and at the hearing offered a detailed presentation on the statute's necessity in terms of the Brooklyn Heights example. Now again it was time to wait.

On January 13, 1965 Senator Javits informed us that the Department of Interior had designated the Brooklyn Heights Historic District a National Historic Site. Finally, on April 6, 1965, the City Council unanimously approved the landmarks preservation statute, which Mayor Wagner signed into law on April 19th. At last we had the goal line in sight.

All along as the Landmarks Law had approached reality it was taken for granted by all concerned, including Chairman Platt, Executive Director James Grote Van Derpool, as well as other Commissioners and staff personnel with whom we were in touch, that the first historic district to be considered for designation would be Brooklyn Heights. The reasons were simple enough. The Commission wanted to be able to demonstrate its ability to act quickly on a major matter. Brooklyn Heights, thanks to Clay Lancaster, had long since done its homework, and being of one mind on designation, was the only district ready.

During the late summer of 1965 we met a couple of times with Jim Van Derpool to review our state of readiness and, especially, the matter of boundaries. Jim had just one more task for us but that proved to be Herculean, the preparation of a card file providing date, style and other pertinent data for each of the 1,316 separate lots within the proposed district. The burden fell on Clay Lancaster and Nancy Pearsall, and countless hours were devoted to this laborious exercise during the summer and fall of 1965. Dwight Demeritt also produced the photographic record of the Heights at its moment of designation, and performed exhaustive research in the Buildings Department. I certainly hope the Commission found it useful. Then, in September, we had the "dress rehearsal" mentioned earlier at an executive session of the Commission where the major, if only, issue was the boundary.

After seven years, November 17, 1965-the day of our hearing--perhaps should have been anticlimactic, but I promise you it was anything but. Supported by a great crowd of Heights rooters, the Association presented the entire case for designation that we had so carefully constructed over so many years. A large number of other Heights residents also spoke and it was immensely gratifying that with just two exceptions, the community was unanimously in favor.

The two exceptions were St. Francis College and the Watchtower Society. St. Francis, which was not familiar with the community's long pursuit of historic zoning, had recently purchased the Behr Mansion within the district and, learning of the hearing at the last minute, had decided somewhat hastily to take the safe course and voice opposition. But upon reviewing with the Association almost immediately after the hearing the implications of designation and anxious to be as one with the community on this important matter, it acted at once to withdraw its opposition, leaving the Watchtower, which had plans for new construction, as the sole objector.

Just six days later, on November 23, 1965, the Commission promulgated its three-page designation decision and New York City had its first historic district, the Brooklyn Heights Historic District. Now, some 28 years later, New York has 58 historic districts and each of you who struggled for the designation of your district has a story of commitment, hard work, disappointment and ultimate success not unlike ours. We just happened to be the first.

Hardly, however, had that fleeting glow of success subsided before we discovered that our legislative work was not yet at an end. Even before Mayor Wagner signed the Landmarks Law, the Association heard that the Watchtower Society was seeking to purchase as much as possible of the block bounded by Columbia Heights, Clark, Willow and Pineapple Streets, and eventually we learned that it had acquired the frontage along Columbia Heights between Clark and Pineapple to a depth of 100 feet, on which it proposed to construct a 12 story "community facility."

This news, needless to say, caused us to scrutinize closely two key provisions of the new Landmarks Law, Sections 207-3.0 and 207.b(3) [now Sections 25-304 and 25-307.b(3)]. The former, dealing with the "Scope of Commission's Powers," stated that nothing should be construed as authorizing the Commission, in acting with respect to any historic district or improvement therein, to limit the height of buildings. The latter reiterated that the Commission, in making its determinations, shall not apply "any regulation, limitation, determination or restriction as to the height of buildings other than regulations, etc. otherwise provided by law," which we understood to mean the Zoning Resolution. To our disgust we were forced to acknowledge based on these provisions that if open space for any reason became available in an historic district, a developer would surely argue that, regardless of the district's predominating scale, the height of permissible new construction was constrained solely by whatever limits pertained to the area under applicable zoning.[1]

Naturally, we recognized that open space would inevitably occur over time in Brooklyn Heights or any other district for any number of reasons. Buildings sometimes simply collapse or are demolished by fire or explosion; the Commission might allow the demolition of a nondescript structure that did not contribute to a district's character; or, the Commission might be required to permit demolition on grounds of insufficient return: we envisioned that this might occur where, for example, the value of several contiguous lots occupied by small houses might rise to reflect the potential for large scale development. But more specific to our immediate problem, we were very unsure how the limitation on demolition might be construed to work in the context of an application by a nonprofit such as the Watchtower Society. In short, we were greatly concerned that we had discovered a serious possible gap in the statute's protection, with dangerous immediate and long term implications for the Heights.

Since the Columbia Heights site included several buildings that clearly contributed to the district's character, we believed, but could not be certain, that we could block their demolition. But assuming they were demolished, the applicable Heights zoning would clearly permit a community facility of 12 stories or even more. What we needed, therefore, was a clear-cut height limitation tailored to the prevailing scale of our brownstones that would apply regardless of the circumstances giving rise to new construction. And since we were familiar with the 50 foot limitation originally imposed on the piers below the Esplanade following construction of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway to protect our famous harbor view, it was no big jump to conceive the idea of proposing to the Placating Commission a Zoning Resolution amendment authorizing the Planning Commission to establish "Limited Height Districts" in areas previously designated by the Landmarks Commission as historic districts. Not only would a fifty foot height limitation assure that any future development conform to the brownstone scale of the Heights, which would result over time in some tendency to replace nonconforming structures with conforming ones, but it would remove virtually all future incentive to tear down brownstones in the first place.

Through the good offices of Beverly Moss Spatt, who was then a Planning Commissioner, we took the matter up with Millard Humpstone of the Planning Department's staff and, to our great relief, received a wholly favorable response. Here was a government agency that not only understood our practical problem but was eager to be of help. We were thrilled.

The next step was a formal Association letter to Planning Chairman William F. R Ballard explaining the statutory issue which--based on our review of over fifty preservation laws nationwide--was unique; its range of potential implications for the Heights; and our proposed limited height district solution. Although to minimize the risk of organized real estate industry opposition our actual proposal to Chairman Ballard contemplated a limited height district just for Brooklyn Heights, Mr. Humpstone preferred an amendment that would authorize the Planning Commission to create one or more limited height districts in any historic district, since any district where scale contributed significantly to character would face issues similar to ours.

Eventually a satisfactory set of amendments were developed authorizing creation of one or more 50, 70, or 100 foot limited height districts within (but not necessarily coterminous with) the boundaries of designated historic districts. In November, 1966 these amendments were approved by the Commission. Now came the hard part, approval by the Board of Estimate. As we had predicted, the real estate industry was resolutely opposed to this notion of superseding the ordinary zoning regulations governing height, and fought us toe to toe. Happily, however, this was pre-Charter Revision, when a Borough President, if you could persuade him of the justice of your cause, had the clout to even the odds for individual neighborhoods caught up in the powerful cross-currents of big city politics. Abe Stark was in our corner on this one, and with his help, in December, 1966, the Board of Estimate narrowly approved the limited height district enabling amendments.

Now it was a matter of designating Brooklyn Heights the first LH-1, or 50 foot, Limited Height District. Although we made elaborate supporting presentations, it really wasn't necessary. The real estate industry, it seemed, didn't care about the particular Brooklyn Heights case, only the authorization of limited height districts in general, and having lost that battle, did not oppose us. So in June, 1967 the Planning Commission designated the bulk of the Brooklyn Heights Historic District the first 50 foot Limited Height District. In August, at a hearing attended by a large group of Brooklyn Heights residents, the Board of Estimate approved.

The City's rationale for this unprecedented action, set forth in Millard Humpstone's report for the City Planning Commission to the Board of Estimate, may not be widely understood and so, I think, bears repeating here:

The Landmarks Preservation Commission, in designating the Brooklyn Heights area as an 'historic district', recognized that its history and the general excellence and homogeneity of its buildings warranted keeping the character of the area substantially as it is. This decision has not only been confirmed by the Board of Estimate but the national importance of Brooklyn Heights was recognized by the Federal Government in January 1965 when it was designated a National Historic Landmark. While the Landmarks Preservation Commission is empowered to prevent, within statutory limits, the demolition or inappropriate exterior alteration of existing structures within a 'historic district', it is quite specifically barred from controlling the height or bulk of new buildings which might be built on parcels which are presently empty or which might, in the future, become available for redevelopment. Yet an important characteristic of Brooklyn Heights is the generally uniform height of buildings--typically three and a half or four stories and it is essential that this generally uniform height be maintained if the character of the district is to be preserved.

The proposed establishment of an LH-1 District within most of this 'historic district' would limit the height of buildings to a maximum of 50 feet above curb level. It is recognized that there are many existing buildings within the proposed boundaries that presently exceed this limit. The 50-foot height is, however, characteristic of the majority and of the best of the area--the fine individual buildings and, more especially, the many continuous rows of buildings which it is the Nation's hope and the City's expressed intention to see preserved. Existing intrusions will, of course, be unaffected by the proposal; constructed before the zoning change, they can remain as a matter of right. The LH-1 designation will, however, prevent their replacement by new structures higher than 50 feet. Thus, the proposal wilt' not only prevent the further spread of intrusive structures in a designated 'historic district' but may act, over the years, effectively to reduce their number and so bring about throughout the entire district, the harmony and homogeneity that are now characteristic of its best parts.

As an historical footnote, I should mention that while the effort to obtain limited height district status was on-going, the Association, with the active involvement of Planning Commissioner Sweeney, made good use of its imminent prospect, and our historic district status, to reach a relatively happy settlement with the Watchtower Society. This, in essence, involved the Society giving up its proposed 12-story structure along Columbia Heights between Clark and Pineapple Streets, demolition at the corner of Clark and Pineapple Streets of the nondescript Norwegian Club (the 19th century origins of which were unrecognizable), and construction in its place and behind the front parlors of three adjoining houses of the first new building in an historic district, a contemporary treatment barely over 50 feet in height, sensitively modeled in brick by Ulrich Franzen to gently echo the bays of the house row next door.

So it was that by August 1967, just nine years after that original group of urban pioneers began meeting in Don McKinney's undercroft, the struggle for legal protection of Brooklyn Heights' architectural heritage was finally over. Since that time, while there certainly has been some minor erosion, we have not suffered the loss of a single house or a single stoop or, indeed, any of the depredations which motivated us at the outset and along the way. To the contrary, the high value the community learned to place on our historic architecture has brought about a wealth of splendid restoration. To be sure, we still live with significant problems, the St. George, piers redevelopment, and institutional expansion, to name just a few. But compared to the fragility we faced 30 years ago, history has fully vindicated Richard Margolis' extravagant editorial prediction in March, 1959 that "historic zoning would virtually guarantee stability on the Heights." Grandest of all, tic miracle Margolis predicted has proved true not just for the Heights but for our multiplicity of historic districts throughout the City. Looking back, it is clear that nothing in the hurly-burly of a lifetime career has given me such satisfaction as watching the trickle that began in Brooklyn Heights become the powerful preservationist torrent of today.

[1] It should perhaps be noted that historically, under a different interpretation of the Landmarks Law, the Landmarks Commission has found certain designs for new buildings to be inappropriate to the special character of historic districts on esthetic grounds, in henna of their massing. Of course, such grounds require a funding of the Commission, whereas under the limited height district zoning a universal prohibition is immediately clear. Subsequent City Planning Commissions have been reluctant to extend limited height district protection to other historic districts. -The Editors.