LECTURE ON ALBERT S. BARD

By Anthony C. Wood

NY Urban Center

May 8, 2002

SIDE ONE

VICKI WEINER:  Good evening. I'm Vicki Weiner, Kress Fellow for historic preservation at the Municipal Art Society. I'm also a board member of the New York Preservation Archive Project, and on behalf of both organizations I'm pleased to welcome you tonight's events. And thank you for coming.

A few years back a handful of preservationists recognized that the memories, papers and materials critical to telling preservation's story were increasingly threatened by the passage of time, and a lack of appreciation for their importance. Under the inspiring leadership of Tony Wood, the New York Preservation Archive Project came into being to document, collect, celebrate and tell the story of historic preservation in New York. Its work includes conducting research, locating and promoting collections, and -- perhaps most importantly -- encouraging local preservation organizations to document and celebrate their own histories.

As this is the Archive Project's first public event -- our debut, as it were -- I'd like to acknowledge our board of directors, many of whom are here this evening. They are, the aforementioned Mr. Wood; Lisa Ackerman, Eric Allison; Laura Hansen; Randy Mason; Dorothy Miner; and Janet Parks. I would also like to take this opportunity to introduce the Archive Project's Kress Fellow, who works with the board conducting research, planning and organizing public programs, and generally keeping the project moving forward. Rudie, could you please stand so everyone can say hello?

The Archive Project is extremely grateful to the Samuel H. Kress Foundation for making Rudie's work with us possible. The foundation has, time and again, demonstrated its commitment to preservation, its appreciation for history, and its willingness to assist and support organizations, large and small, in meeting their preservation goals through the Kress Fellowship program.

Finally, it's my great privilege to introduce Lisa Ackerman, Vice President of the Kress Foundation. Lisa has been an incredible supporter of preservation causes for many years. She has lent her time, expertise, and great strategic thinking to organizations like US-ICOMOS, the Neighborhood Preservation Center, and Partners for Sacred Places. We're very fortunate to have her as an Archive Project board member, as well. She's here this evening to make further introductions. Lisa.

LISA ACKERMAN:  Well, welcome to our first event. As Vicki said, I'm here to introduce Tony Wood, who's going to take over the leadership of tonight's event. As many people in this room are friends, you all know it's no easy task to introduce Tony. For the last twenty years Tony has been a vital part of the preservation community here in New York, and has worked for the Preservation Commission, the Municipal Art Society, the J.M. Kaplan Fund, and has served on the boards of the Historic Districts Council, Friends of the Upper East Side Historic District, the Neighborhood Preservation Center, and a number of other groups, including the Preservation League of New York State. In his spare time he has really guided the Preservation Archive Project to this point, and I can say, personally and professionally, that I have benefited greatly from his expertise and commitment to this field. And, I think it has also helped shape many of our Kress fellowships in historic preservation. I hadn't thought about it until Vicki said it, that both Vicki and Rudie, this year, have worked on interesting projects and, certainly, it has been in large measure through Tony's guidance that we have expanded our program to include these kinds of fellowships. And I'm going to turn the event over to Tony.

TONY WOOD:  Even nicer than Lisa's remarks is the fact that there are more than six people in New York who are interested in this subject. For years I was convinced there were only six of us who actually cared. So I'm delighted to see so many people here tonight.

The ninetieth birthday of a man virtually unknown today triggered the following editorial in the New York Times of December, 1956. It reads, in part: "Albert S. Bard, one of the oldest civic leaders in years lived and years served, observed his ninetieth birthday today, an occasion deserving salutations and appreciation. For half a century of more he's been constructively and continuously active. He's helped keep the public alert. Long one of our most faithful and valued correspondents, in the columns to the right of this page, he's been a guardian of the public interest in natural resources and the aesthetically sound development of our city." Today, almost forty years after Bard's death, on March 25, 1963, at the age of ninety-six, the man whose ninetieth birthday merited both an editorial and a news article in the New York Times, is in danger of being forgotten. If his name is known at all to the generations that followed, it is most likely for the legislation he drafted, giving municipalities in New York State the authority to have local landmark laws. It was my interest in that legislation -- the Bard Act, and its origins -- that focused my attention on Albert Bard.

Once in search of Albert Bard, it became clear just how far he'd disappeared into the mists of history. Just finding a photograph of Bard took months. Surprisingly, it didn't come from any of the New York City groups he had worked with, but, rather, from the files of his alma mater. My search for Bard ultimately took me to his papers at the New York Public Library. These papers quickly underscored the thrust of the Times editorial. Bard's civic contributions and legacy go far beyond any singular accomplishment, even one as important as the Bard Act. Bard's larger role provides significant insights into the historic of planning and preservation in New York City. Dedicated, persistent, brilliant and feisty, Bard is just too wonderful and inspiring a civic icon to be forgotten.

Tonight we try to reclaim at least part of the memory of Albert Bard. To begin I will sketch a basic chronology of Bard's life. I'll then focus in, with greater precision, on his lifelong interest in aesthetic issues, which brings us to his role in planning and preservation. Next I'll try to put him in context with some of his contemporaries. I'll close by trying to capture a sense of what the man was like -- his habits, his humor, and his temper. That note, I hope, will provide the right segues to the beginning of the second half of our program, which will be personal memories of those who knew Bard, and stories about him from others. If we could have the slides now and the lights down --

Born in Norwich, Connecticut on December 19, 1866, Bard went to the Norwich Free Academy [Connecticut], and St. John's Military School in Manleus [New York]. In 1888 he graduated from Amherst College, where he was a member of the Chi Psi Fraternity. Bard's involvement with his fraternity illustrates what would be a pattern in his life. Once he became involved in something, he stuck with it. In 1909, representing his fraternity, Bard helped found the National Inter-fraternity Conference. Seen here in 1920, Bard served as chair that year. From 1909 until 1956, Bard would not miss a single annual meeting of that conference. This would become vintage Bard behavior. In 1892 Bard graduated from Harvard Law, where he'd been on the Harvard Law Review. By 1901 he'd formed the law firm of Bard & Cawkins, with another Harvard Law man, Leighton Cawkins. Located at 25 Broad Street, Bard would operate from this address until his death in 1963. In his nineties, still practicing law, he mused on his then declining business: "It's my old clients. They seem to be dying out from under me."

In his early thirties Bard began a lifelong involvement in New York City's civic community. In 1897 he helped found the Citizen's Union. In 1961, over six decades later, he would still be serving as one of its officers. In 1901 he became a life member of the Municipal Art Society (and I think the Society took a bath on that life membership, but only in financial terms). He joined the Society board for the first time in 1911, by 1912 was chairing its committee on charter revision, and by 1917 would become its president. He would return to the Society's board in 1948, and serve through the 1950s. His association with the Fine Arts Federation also spanned decades, with Bard serving as its treasurer, as early as 1917. The City Club also enjoyed decades of his intense involvement. For almost the next fifty years his name would be actively associated with these and other prominent civic organizations, whether serving as their counsel, as an officer, or chairing a committee. As the Times noted in its Bard birthday editorial, one of Bard's associates in various civic enterprises speaks of his "inflexible idealism," "that has furnished a continuity of purpose through the decades." He notes that others joined in civic efforts, took the gavel, topped the letterheads for a while, and drifted off. Mr. Bard "stayed with it, is still at it."

Bard had a diverse range of civic interests and involvement. In 1909 he co-authored the revised, consolidated election law for New York City, and in 1912 he pioneered the formation of the Honest Ballot Association. From 1917 to 1990 he served as chairman of Local Draft Board #154. In 1921 he was on the Advisory Council to the New York Port Authority. In '24 Bard was at the organizing meeting of the advisory committee of Conservation of Parks, which is captured in the photo on the right. And in 1926 Bard was an incorporator of the Central Park Association. (Now, hopefully, everybody's found Bard in this picture.) Bard's place in the civic community and the esteem in which he was held by his peers is reflected in the role he played in the epic struggle between New York's civic community and Parks Commissioner, Robert Moses, over Castle Clinton. Bard served as vice-chair and then chair of the Central Committee of Organizations Opposing the Battery Toll Bridge.

That first skirmish over Castle Clinton raged from January through June of 1939. As part of the effort, the Central Committee published a small broadside called "An Open Letter to the President and His Advisors, Requesting Further Study of the Battery Toll Bridge Project." It included a series of simulations of what the proposed bridge would look like. Bard's files contain even more of these simulations. The great committee, the Central Committee, represented nineteen cooperating organizations, ranging from the Architectural League, to the Central Mercantile Association, to the Fine Arts Federation, the Municipal Art Society, the New York Building Congress, and, even, the Real Estate Board of New York. It was, indeed, a really bad idea.

That victory over Moses was short-lived, with Moses announcing, in 1941, that the Aquarium was obsolete and unsuitable, and had to be demolished for the tunnel, the successor to the failed bridge project. This launched a new struggle with Moses that would continue until July of 1950, when the Castle was finally saved, with its designation as a national historic site. Bard was involved in this multiple-year struggle in many ways. He served as counsel on legal efforts to stop Moses. Bard's papers are full of legal briefs from these efforts. One brief featured this photo on the right, showing the condition of Castle Clinton.

In The Power Broker, Robert Caro writes of Bard's assessment of Robert Moses: "Like Hitler," Robert Bard said of him, "because of his technique of making one demand, and as soon as it was met, making another." In a July 20th, 1950 letter to the New York Times, Bard logged in on the successful conclusion to the battle for Castle Clinton: "The announcement that Castle Clinton, in Battery Park, is now a national monument, and the comments of George McAneny, deserve a footnote. To George McAneny himself should go the main credit for the result. If it had not been for him, the sentiments and efforts of as many colleagues in the effort would have come to naught, and today Castle Clinton would be a heap of stones." In his August 1st, 1950 letter to Bard, George McAneny, pictured here in the photo on the right, escorting the Japanese ambassador (we don't know quite why he's escorting the Japanese ambassador), he responded: "Dear Albert: I wanted to thank you for your letter to the Times. You did me much more than justice. When I read the carbon of your letter, I feared that the reference to a certain 'pigheaded person' might kill it. But this, I noticed, they deftly left out. I remember during the early days of nearly nine years ago, one of the strongest of those working for the old fort was yourself. And your letter is not only a confirmation of that pleasant memory, but is evidence that, in the whole period, I have had no more resourceful cooperator, and, certainly, no more faithful friend."

The reference to a "pigheaded person" (one Robert Moses) referred to a line in Bard's original letter he sent to the Times, which the Times had deleted. Originally it had read, "If it had not been for McAneny, the sentiments and efforts of as many colleagues in the effort would have come to naught, and today Castle Clinton would be a heap of stones at the feat of our talented but pigheaded Parks Commissioner."

This correspondence reveals much about Bard: his constant willingness to give credit where it was due; his key, supporting role in these civic dramas; his willingness to stick with an issue and a friend over the years; and, his bluntness. From this broad overview of Bard's general involvement and status in the civic community, let's now turn specifically to Bard's lifelong interest in aesthetics and aesthetic regulation. Though a lawyer by profession, Bard had a consuming passion for architecture, design and scenic beauty. Over the years he would find frequent opportunities to marry his legal skills with these other interests. Ultimately, he would become a leading figure on the issue of aesthetics and police power, regularly writing on the subject for the American City. By the end of his career he was considered one of the nation's foremost authorities on municipal affairs. He would also be lucky enough to see his vision for aesthetic regulation become a reality.

In 1893, one year out of Harvard Law, working in the law office of Hornblower & Bern, at 45 William Street -- and still only in his twenties -- the evidence suggests Bard went to Chicago to visit the World's Colombian exhibition. In his papers are bot the official catalogue of exhibits, and Rand McNally's A Week at the Fair. His notes in the margins of A Week at the Fair (seen here on the right) call out architects of certain pavilions that he must have wanted to visit, and focuses, also, on many works of statuary. The spirit of the City Beautiful movement flourished in Bard. On May 13, 1919, as president of the Municipal Art Society, he spoke at the Society's presentation of the Evangeline Wilbur Blashfield Memorial Fountain: "In giving this fountain to the city in trust, for the people of the market, the Municipal Art Society illustrates anew its two-fold faith. We know that men must have useful things, and we know, equally, that their hearts desire them to be beautiful."

One of the enemies of civic beauty was outdoor advertising. Taking on this blight would be another lifelong passion of Bard's. By 1917 the Harvard Law School class notes would comment that Bard had already written numerous articles on the subject of outdoor advertising. In 1929 he appeared on an MAS panel (a Municipal Art Society panel) called "The Abuse of Outdoor Advertising," in his role as "sometime secretary" of the Mayor's Billboard Advertising Commission. Bard's remarks were entitled, "The Outdoor Advertiser as he Appears to the Citizen." They began: "Mr. Billboard Advertiser, quite frankly, we don't like you. You make your money by exploiting and not improving your town and country. You're able to live on a beautiful and expensive street, because you bedizen and cheapen a great many other streets. You can afford to buy your Rolls Royce and your Packard, because you have made neighborhoods unsightly and beautiful rural stretches ugly for those who ride on subways or in Fords, or who walk. You erect, in front of my house and under my eyes, as I go home at night, cheap and ugly structures that nothing could induce you to have in front of your own home." And Bard went on in a similar tone.

In 1923 Bard was introduced to Mrs. W.L. Elizabeth Lawton, a national spokesperson and leader in the growing anti-billboard movement. She spoke at a Municipal Art Society dinner on legislation to stop billboards. Bard would become the counsel to at least two national organizations chaired by Mrs. Lawton -- the National Committee for Restriction of Outdoor Advertising, and the National Council for Protection of Roadside Beauty. Again, his was a lifetime commitment. One of the rare photos we have of Bard is this one on the right, from June of 1952, showing Bard receiving the Holiday Travel Award on behalf of the National Roadside Council. (God knows what the Holiday Travel Award was). Bard's files are full of letters from Mrs. Lawton. He also corresponded nationally with those seeking legislation to stop the proliferation of billboards. He spoke at national conferences on the subject, and for decades authored numerous articles on the topic.

Bard's efforts to advance the notion that aesthetics was a proper realm for government regulation started early. In 1916, testifying on behalf of the Municipal Art Society on the matter of the proposed zoning resolution of 1916, he sounded a theme he would repeat for almost the next half century. He testified: "This Society greatly regrets that the present constitutional situation prevents the commission from giving weight to aesthetic considerations, and that the proposals are necessarily based wholly upon considerations of public health, or their convenience, and the stabilizing of property values. We think it, however, a great misfortune that the city is not in a legal position to make a direct attempt to conserve aesthetic values. Americans generally are far behind many other nations in realizing the value of beauty as a municipal asset, expressed in dollars, to say nothing of its daily contribution to the happiness of its citizens."

Though America was behind, it was certainly through no lack of effort on Bard's part. At the 1938 New York State Constitutional Convention, Bard proposed "Intro #508" (shown here), known as the "Patrimony of the People" clause. Though it failed to move forward, it did receive a great deal of interest and support from the civic and planning community. It read: "The natural beauty, historic associations, sightliness and physical order of the state and its parts, contribute to the general welfare and shall be conserved and developed as a part of the patrimony of the people. To that end, private property shall be subject to reasonable regulation and control."

Over the following years, Bard would be involved in and always seeking information on government efforts to regulate on behalf of aesthetics. In the late 1940s he wrote other cities (among them Santa Barbara and San Diego), inquiring about municipal, architectural control over private property. In 1950, when Owen Grundey of The Villager writes the president of the Municipal Art Society about the problem of preserving Greenwich Village, Society president Frances Keeley responds: "I've requested our law committee to look into legal aspects of historic zoning. You might have your legal group get in touch with Mr. Albert Bard, chair of our committee." The minutes of the Society's next monthly board meeting recount that Mr. Keeley "outlined the need of legislation in Albany for some kind of guidance or control over the aesthetic character of private structures through appropriate zoning, such as has been accomplished in Alexandria, Virginia, Charleston, South Carolina, and New Orleans, Louisiana. Mr. Bard was asked to consult with Mr. Cannon in the development of a bill to be placed before the legislature."

Over the next several years the question of finding a way to protect aesthetic and historic values would come up regularly at Society board meetings. In the fall of 1950 the Society decided it would ask mayoral candidates their point of view with respect to the inclusion of aesthetic and historic zoning, in connection with a then proposed, ultimately doomed, effort to rezone the city. A line from the MAS minutes of the October 26, 1953 meeting sums up their continuing dilemma: "The control of aesthetics of private property in the city is a very difficult matter."

That matter, however, would become much easier in 1954. In November of that year the United States Supreme Court rendered its decision in Berman v. Parker. The decision had been brought to Bard's attention by Robert Weinberg, another key figure in planning and preservation. The minutes of the Municipal Art Society's December 28, 1954 meeting suggests the importance of the decision. They report: "Mr. Bard called attention to the encouraging, recent decision of the United States Supreme Court in the case of Berman v. Parker. The opinion of the court emphasizes the right of a community to regulate private property on the basis of community beauty and appearance, regardless of the more usual factors of health, safety, morals, and public convenience. The case is likely to become a leading case in the law of planning, and on the controversial matter of public control of private property, with respect to exterior appearances." This was a decision Bard had been waiting for his entire life.

In his work as a counsel to the Joint Committee on Design Control of the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Architects and the New York Regional Chapter of the American Institute of Planners -- which produced, in 1958, the seminal report, "Planning and Community Appearance" -- Bard advised that group, as their counsel, at the beginning of their work in 1953, "Proceed on the assumption that aesthetic control of private property in the interest of the community is a legal exercise of the public power." Bard himself had been working on that assumption for decades. Now, at the age of eighty-eight, he had lived long enough to see this become a reality. Not only was Bard alive to see this change, he still had the energy, connections and chutzpah to seize the opportunity that had now been created. By January 18 of 1955, Bard had drafted a bill which was introduced into the New York State legislature by Senator McNeil Mitchell, pictured here on the left. Bard drew the bill up for the Citizens Union and the Fine Arts Federation. In February the Municipal Art Society expressed its support and urged its members to do likewise. So the Bard Act was passed that year by both the Assembly and the Senate. It was vetoed by Governor Harriman, on the grounds that it was "too vague." With no substantive changes, it was re-introduced in 1956, and on April 2, 1956, it was signed into law. What changed the governor's mind was not clear. Bard himself credited the legislation "primarily to the persistent efforts of Senator McNeil Mitchell of New York City, and the Citizens Union of New York."

What we now know as the Bard Act is actually an amendment to the general city law. It reads: "To provide for places, buildings, structures, works of art and other objects having a special character, or special historical or aesthetic interest or value, special conditions or regulations for their protection, enhancement, perpetuation or use -- which may include appropriate and reasonable control of the use or appearance of neighboring private property within public view, or both. In any such instance, such measures -- adopted in the exercise of the police power -- shall be reasonable and appropriate to the persons; or, if constituting a taking of private property, shall provide for due compensation, which may include the limitation or remission of taxes."

Though perhaps not readily apparent to today's lay reader, the Bard Act provided localities across New York State the authority they needed to pass local laws to protect their landmarks. This was, however, readily apparent to those in New York City who, for years, had been looking for some way to protect the special character of their neighborhoods. The passage of the Bard Act in 1956 coincided with the appointment of James Felt as the new chairman of the City Planning Commission, and his announcement to undertake a new study of New York City zoning. This created a public conversation on zoning. The need for some sort of aesthetic control, building on the Bard Act, became part of that dialogue. The call for aesthetic zoning would come from citywide civic organizations as well as the neighborhoods.

The Municipal Art Society Committee on Civic Action, on which Bard served and which was formed after the passage of the Bard Act -- with part of its mission to follow through on the Bard Act -- asked for "zoning safeguards for historic and aesthetic preservation." Both Brooklyn Heights and Greenwich Village would reference the Bard Act in their call for aesthetic regulation to protect their threatened neighborhoods. Not only would they cite the Bard Act in their efforts, they would also seek out Bard himself. In February of 1959 the Community Conservation and Improvement Council -- formed by Otis Pratt Pearsall, his wife, Nancy, and other residents of Brooklyn Heights, wrote to the Municipal Art Society about historic zoning for Brooklyn Heights. In typical Municipal Art Society style, a special subcommittee was created to offer encouragement (I don't know if they felt that was what they got) to the Brooklyn Preservation efforts. The subcommittee consisted of Alan Burnham, Henry Hope Reed, and Albert S. Bard. I hope we're going to hear more about that in the second part of the program tonight.

Greenwich Village, long a hotbed of preservation sentiment, was also looking for a mechanism to protect the Village. In October of '59 Save the Village launched a petition drive seeking 10,000 signatures calling for "citywide measures to protect New York's cherished neighborhoods, rezone and save Greenwich Village from mass demolitions and evictions. The first signer of the petition was Albert Bard. In June of 1960 Save the Village approached Mayor Wagner about using the Bard Act to protect the Village. (I hope we'll also hear more on the Village story tonight). The calls for including aesthetic zoning in the new zoning resolution were reaching James Felt's ears. He was not unsympathetic, but believed if he included such a proposal in his new zoning, it would sink the entire reform effort. The cry for aesthetic zoning grew until finally Felt said to Jeffrey Platt, seen here on the left, then chair of the Municipal Art Society Zoning Committee, "If you'll stop talking about aesthetic zoning, I'll do something to help you people with the question of preservation of older buildings. We can't get aesthetic zoning into the new zoning law, and if we keep trying, we're going to scuttle the whole thing." "After that," Platt reminisced, "I didn't say another word." The new zoning did pass in 1960, and went into effect in 1961. An article, on Bard's ninety-fifth birthday, in 1961, noted his reaction to the implementation of the new zoning as, "Nothing more than a step in the right direction. Bard certainly had a gift for taking the longer view.

After the passage of the zoning resolution, James Felt delivered on his promise to address aesthetic zoning. He successfully coached the Municipal Art Society on how to approach Mayor Wagner on the issue of preservation, and on June 19, 1961, Wagner appointed the Mayor's Committee for the Preservation of Structures of Historical and Aesthetic Importance. This led to the appointment of the Mayor's Advisory Landmark Preservation Commission, on April 21, 1962. As they say, the rest is history, and after many trials and tribulations, worthy of many lectures in their own right, on April 19th, 1965, New York finally got its long-awaited landmarks law. Unfortunately, Bard did not live to see that event. On March 25th, 1963, after a short illness -- having outlived every other member of his Amherst class -- he passed away at the age of ninety-six. By this time he had become a well-recognized national authority on the subject of aesthetics and the police power, thanks, in part, to his article -- Aesthetics and the Police Power -- which first appeared in 1955, and reappeared through the decade in several forms. Despite his advanced years and considerable deafness, he was still such a personage that his ninety-fifth birthday received press coverage. Perhaps that, in some small way, compensates for his misfortune of dying during the newspaper strike, and, hence, only receiving a truncated obituary.

It is clear Bard was a major figure and fixture in the New York civic community. In The Power Broker, Bob Caro called him "one of the old giants of the New York City reform movement." He was also, certainly, close to many of these giants. A letter to him from one of those giants, C.C. Burlingham, dated July 15, 1956, begins: "My Dear Bard," and notes yet a new tie between them. Burlingham had just received the Municipal Art Society's medal of honor, delivered to him by Whitney North Seymour and his wife. Bard, himself, had received the honor in 1952. Buglingham notes of the medal: "I find that the medal was designed by Daniel French, whom I knew many years ago. It's a fine piece of work, but not to the taste of modernists." Another of Bard's colleagues was Arthur Holden, an architect and planner. Holden, also a poet of sorts, commemorates Bard in his book, Sonnets for my City. Sonnet #186 is entitled, "Landmarks Preservation Commission." Part of it reads: "Must beauty and rare landmarks yield their place, and economic forces, uncontrolled, destroy fine records of past living's grace? Has good taste vanished with the men of old? Bard framed a sanction written into law, to make taste vocal. That's what law is for."

If we could have the lights --

So what type of person was Bard? Harmon Goldstone remembered him as "tiny, very frail, and absolutely indomitable." A reporter wrote about Bard, as a man of ninety: "A short man, he gathers up his briefcase after a meeting, works into his overcoat, and moves out into the city with the long, quick stride of a six-footer. Mr. Bard is robust and alert, with firm flesh and steady hand, and he counts 'these,' the 'good old days.'" The article on his ninety-fifth birthday begins: "Five days a week Mr. Bard commutes from East Orange, New Jersey by bus, railroad and Hudson River tubes to his law office at Broad Street, although he gave up active practice a few years ago. The office he uses for reading, thinking and planning is cluttered with a seventy-year accumulation of legal briefs, historical notes, and architectural concepts that overflow two, old roll-top desks and five tables," and now occupy some ninety boxes at the New York Public Library.

Bard was a man of habits and routines. He was meticulous, and kept almost everything. For example, from his papers we learn that he sat on the dais at the April 17, 1951 Municipal Art Society dinner honoring Mr. George McAneny. We also learn that the menu that evening featured hearts of celery; Queen olives; gumbo Creole; roast Long Island duckling stuffed with bread and apples; asparagus vinaigrette; "Babao" rum and demitasse. As has become apparent, Bard was a man of strong opinions. He had no hesitation in expressing them, not always to everyone's liking. In 1930 he exchanges letters with then Commissioner of Parks for Manhattan, Walter Herrick. Herrick ends the exchange with the following letter to Bard, that reads in its entirety: "Dear Sir, Your letter of the 25th instant received. It would be futile to attempt to carry on a correspondence with you until you've learned, at least, the elements of courtesy and veracity. Yours truly." Bard seemed to take delight in his advocacy. Reading his statements and letters, one is left with the clear impression he greatly enjoyed phrasing his barbs and polishing his quips. On the occasion of his ninety-fifth birthday, Bard was saluted at a surprise celebratory lunch. As the New York Times reported, Mr. Bard was then called on to respond. "I operate on he theory that criticism is most effective when it is concrete. I have another theory which I have found works. Have a bad temper. Disguise it in some form of humor, but don't forget the bad temper. I have a bad temper."

I hope this brief foray into the life and work of Bard has made it clear why he's a figure who should not disappear into the mists of time. His dedication, perseverance, strong beliefs and delight in his causes are an inspiration. He's an exemplar of the type of civic activism and feistiness that has served our city so well. As the Times noted about Bard, he's a reminder that good government relies on good citizenship; that those who do not hold public office play an essential role in getting city business done well. Understanding Bard also gives us a finer, more nuanced appreciation of the motivations, concerns and events that prepared the way for New York's landmarks law. Bard's life reminds us of many lessons too important to be forgotten. Tonight the process of remembering Bard begins. In rediscovering Bard, we who care passionately about our city, its beauty and its history, find an inspirational part of our own history as civic activists. That history can nourish and propel us to meet the challenges of our own time.

Thank you very much.

I'm just going to take a couple of questions. If our tape people want to change the tape, this is probably the time to do it, before we ask our distinguished guests in the audience, who have some stories and thoughts and memories of Bard, to join us. Are there any questions, while we kill time, as the tapes are changed?

Q:  How did you have the time to do that research?

A:  The Ittleson Foundation is a greater supporter of preservation than they are aware.

Q:  Tony, George McAneny [ ? ] -- ambassador to [ ? ] -- president of the City Club.

A:  In fact, I think it was his daughter, Ruth McAneny Loud, who was largely responsible for the revitalization of the Municipal Art Society, in the '50s and '60s. So there are very interesting connections.

We have the new tape in place. Good. What I'd like to do is -- there are a few people, I know, in the audience who are willing to share some memories, so I'm going to call on a few of them. Then, those whom I might not know but who have memories I would hope would come up. We are taping this, in both video and audio, and it's part of the Archive Project's efforts to build the wealth of knowledge we have, and will have, hopefully, better records of. As you see, Mr. Bard managed to avoid cameras for most of his life, so we're now trying to remedy that for future historians.

Otis, I'm wondering if you'd be willing to come up and start us off. As many of you know, Otis was and is a key player in preservation in Brooklyn, now and into the past, despite his young looks, and I think he has some memories of Bard.

OTIS PEARSALL:  Thank you, Tony, for inviting me to participate on this wonderful occasion.

My interaction with Mr. Bard was relatively brief, so I will be, also.

In the late fall of '58, a group of newly arrived young professionals coalesced in Brooklyn Heights, and, calling themselves the Community Conservation Improvement Council, undertook two goals: achieving historic zoning for Brooklyn Heights, and reshaping Bob Moses' proposed Title I project for Cabin Plaza. As one of the three co-chairs, my department was Historic Zoning. When we started we knew little more than just a little bit about Beacon Hill, but by December, 1958, we received, in a packet of material from the National Trust, the dramatic revelation that was to guide us from that point forward: a copy of the simple, one-paragraph, 1956 Bard Law, empowering cities to adopt regulations to protect places, buildings, structures, works of art and other objects having a special character, special historic, aesthetic interest or value. What's more, at about the same time, there came to hand the report of the Joint Committee on Design Control of the New York Chapter (AIA) and the New York Regional Chapter (AIP), just published in May, 1958, entitled "Planning and Community Appearance."

Mr. Bard had served as pro bono council to the Joint Committee since 1953, and this thick report included not only his chapter on evolving legal concepts and a discussion of the Bard Law, but -- eye-popping, from our perspective -- a pronouncement that the endangered areas of historic and aesthetic value that the Bard Law was drawn to protect were exemplified in New York City by none other than Greenwich Village and Brooklyn Heights. Within two months -- in the February 26, 1959 Brooklyn Heights Press -- we announced our proposal for an historic preservation ordinance, under the Bard Law. At the same time we set about seeking help from prestigious groups whose support we knew would be crucial. First and foremost, of course, the Municipal Art Society of New York, whose 1957 pamphlet, "New York Landmarks," assembled by its Committee on Historic Architecture, had already encouraged our confidence in the quality of Heights' architecture.

At Henry Hope Reed's suggestion (and I'm so glad to see him this evening), on February 22nd, 1959, I wrote to the Society's president, George Hopper Fitch, explaining our plan to put the Bard Law to work in Brooklyn Heights, and seeking advice and assistance. Fitch responded at once by appointing a special sub-committee of Alan Burnham's Committee on Historic Architecture, to offer us support, consisting of Burnham, Henry Hope Reed, and Robert S. Bard, himself, who was then in his ninety-second year. Quite a guy.

As I reported in my reminiscences of those events, this immediately led, on March 3rd, 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 town house overlooking the harbor, with the MAS Special Committee, including the sprightly Mr. Bard. The discussion was excitedly animated, and clear-cut that Brooklyn 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. I recall even now the exhilaration of that moment.

Mr. Bard loved everything about our proposal, and the Heights. Was the word "place" in the Enabling Act broad enough to encompass an entire district, we asked? Definitely, was the tone of his vigorous response. Was Brooklyn Heights of sufficient importance to justify the very first exercise of the Act's authority? Absolutely, was his firm conviction. So it went on, for a couple of hours, as he did his very best to reinforce the enthusiasm he sensed in us, for the importance of our cause. So we were off and running. While it required seven years to realize our goal -- of including provision for historic district in the landmarks law and achieving designation for Brooklyn Heights as the city's first -- our stubborn persistence to get the job done was, I believe, no little inspired by Mr. Bard's personal intervention at the outset.

Thank you.

SIDE TWO

TONY WOOD:  It seems appropriate at this point to continue that theme and ask Henry Hope Reed if he would be willing to come up and share what memories he might have.

HENRY HOPE REED:  Thank you, Tony. It's a pleasure to speak about Albert Bard. I must say that what I have to offer is very much a footnote to Tony's eloquent biography.

In those days the Municipal Art Society used to meet in the house of Ernest Flagg, on 40th Street, just east of Park Avenue. It was the meal hour when the board would gather there, and Mr. Bard was always a fixture. He took up his seat right next to the chairman -- usually the president of the Society -- always with a large hearing aid. In those days, with any memory, hearing instruments weren't quite the size of this stand, but as you look back, they were awfully big. In other words, they were like a small suitcase, and Mr. Bard would have this. The trouble with those instruments was that often, for example, you'd tune in, to turn it up -- make it a little louder and so on, to have the right sound -- and suddenly you'd get WQXR. This is one of the hurdles of these instruments. The other problem with the instrument was that they -- the problem with a hearing aid is that hearing gets in, with ordinary hearing aids, then there's this squeak. They squeak. Well, with this instrument, occasionally, out would come a squeak and interrupt the board meeting. It was the kind of squeak -- as I recall it had sort of a stick coming out -- and it was the kind of squeak that you may still -- you know the chestnut vendors in early spring? I think you occasionally still see them, but they used to be a fixture in this city, and they'd have sort of a steam whistle, from the heating of, for the cooking of, the chestnuts. Well, that's exactly what it was, and suddenly there was this beep that would come out, and interrupt the whole board meeting.

Mr. Bard was very patient. Of course, he'd seen a lot, after all, I guess as part of his training as a lawyer, and his devotion, certainly, to the city and to the city's monuments. I always liked to think he was one of the forces behind an exhibition which I was privileged to stage for the Municipal Art Society, at the University Club, called The Monuments of Manhattan. What it was was a series of large renderings and views of great buildings of Manhattan. Some of the material is now in the New York Historical Society, and some in other institutions. This was an attempt, following Bard's suggestion, to dramatize these buildings, which the Society wanted to preserve. For example, I remember the exhibition we had there, which, of course, Mr. Bard knew well, was the statue of Richard Morris Hunt -- a plaster version of it, it's now in the Museum of the City of New York -- of the architect, Hunt, in the outfit of a stonemason, with the heavy hammer of the stonemason. This statue was placed on the top of a pinnacle of the Vanderbilt house, on 52nd Street and Fifth Avenue. (The statue, by the way, is now at the Vanderbilt Museum, on the north shore of Long Island, if you go there.) This was the sort of evocation of the past that was simply part of Mr. Bard's life. We are unaware of it, but the disappearance, for example, of sculpture in the city is really staggering, when you think that there are some statues on the grounds of a museum in Indianapolis; the statue of General Wolf, hero of the conquest of Quebec is in Winnipeg, or one of those western provinces of Canada, which used to be on a building built by one of the Astors, on the corner of Exchange Place and Broadway. Another group of statues is out in Sterling Forest, part of the city's distribution of its monuments, almost, it would seem, scattering them around the country. Of course, coming back to the Municipal Art Society, on the question of some commemoration for the World Trade Center's terrible disaster, the use of the searchlight -- I think Mr. Bard would have known that one of the first examples of the use of the searchlight on that scale was at the Panama Pacific Exhibition in San Francisco in 1915. The top architect there, by the way, of the great tower, the Tower of Jules, was by Thomas Hastings, and it's a great Exposition which has been neglected. Part of the drama was the use of the searchlight. Eventually, of course, it came to be tied in with movie launchings. In front of the movie theatre you'd have half a dozen searchlights going back and forth, particularly in the '20s and '30s. I think he would have known that, and I think he would have been somewhat hesitant at the use of this instrument instead of a sculpture, or the use of a monument, an architectural monument. It simply was not part of his vision.

This was part of his generation -- a man who'd lived through the great period of American architecture, and the great period (let's say, the embellishment) of the city -- and I think he would have been a little disappointed at turning to a mechanical instrument as a means of commemoration. But, of course, as Tony has pointed out, what was the frozen labor, the basic work in getting the legislation through, which made possible the preservation not only of buildings but whole communities in the city -- it's splendid that he's being commemorated.

TONY WOOD:  Bard would probably also take great pleasure in the thought that the Municipal Art Society is, at this moment, restoring the very fountain he made those remarks at, as president of MAS, back in 1913.

At this time, I wonder -- Giorgio, would you like to come up and say a few words? Giorgio? Do you mind coming up? We'd like to record it. Watch the wires, so we don't sabotage you, but -- Thanks.

GIORGIO CAVAGLIERI:  I just met Mr. Bard once or twice, at the Municipal Art Society, which I had joined in the late '50s. I was mostly impressed by his courteous personality; the way he really received people, and talked to everybody, with great kindness and sincerity. As I remember, particularly, everybody in the group was very impressed by his presence.

At that moment the discussion was about getting financing for research that Alan Burnham was doing, for publishing a book on landmarks in New York. I think the interest of Mr. Bard, and the interest of Mr. Whitney North Seymour, Sr., obtained this money (I don't know from where, exactly). But I always remember that that book was very influential in impressing the public of the richness of the wealth of historic buildings in New York, particularly Manhattan. I always connect this recollection with the ability of Mr. Bard and Mr. Seymour to talk to people -- to discuss these kinds of problems -- and was impressed by that.

That's all I can remember.

TONY WOOD:  This evening's actually becoming a wonderful teaser on the larger history of the evolution of the law. We've heard about the exhibitions that Henry Hope Reed was involved with, that were tied into tours that grew out of a List Project, that turned into the Burnham book. So there are all sorts of wonderful aspects coming up.

The name of Whitney North Seymour, Sr. was mentioned, so it seems appropriate to segue to the present Whitney North Seymour, if he'd like to come up and chair any stories he may have on the great Bard.

WHITNEY NORTH SEYMOUR:  Tony, this is a great project, and you're all great to be here.

About twenty years ago, Whitney Seymour, Sr. took me as a guest up to the Second Circuit Conference in Manchester, Vermont. The federal judges of the circuit meet once a year to talk over court business, play golf, and fraternize a little bit. On this occasion, the then governor of Vermont welcomed the judges and lawyers. (His name was Stafford. He went on to become a United States Senator.) But on this occasion he was explaining how he had become the governor of Vermont, by way of serving as attorney general of Vermont. He explained that, in a small state like Vermont, the attorney general's staff is very small, and the attorney general, himself, often had to argue cases. He described one case he had before the Supreme Court of Vermont, where the issue had to do with real property title. (And you may remember that Vermont was once torn asunder between the governor of New Hampshire, who was giving grants, and the governor of New York, who was giving grants, so that back in the colonial days, there was a lot of cloud on title.) Stafford explained how he went over this long history of this particular property, which the state was claiming, and his argument went well over two hours. He realized the judges were kind of nodding away, so to get their attention he raised his voice and said, "Well, your honors, I've been arguing here for close to three hours, and as far as I can see, I might as well have been hitting my head up against a stone wall." At that, the chief justice leaned forward and said, "Well, frankly, Mr. Attorney General, in your case I can think of no one who could do so with less risk of personal injury."

That was the essence of Albert Bard. My father, who was a close friend of his, used to love to tell me the latest story about something Bard had done -- not just the landmarks law; that's a thing we all know about -- but personal actions that involved hitting his head up against a stone wall. When New York had a terrible litter problem and decided to crack down on littering, Bard made it a personal campaign to also make his contribution to cleaning up the city. My father told me with delight one day that Albert Bard told him that he had gone along the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue, and whenever he saw somebody crumple up a cigarette package or otherwise drop a piece of paper on the sidewalk, he would go up, pick up the piece of paper, go up to the person who dropped it, and say, "Excuse me, sir. I believe you dropped something." On another occasion there was a lot of unhappiness about city crosswalks, and they started drawing white lines and telling cars they had to stay back, so the pedestrians would have the right-of-way. My father told me, again, about an occasion when Albert Bard encountered a taxi that had pulled up, right into the crosswalk. Now these were the days when taxis were a little bigger than they are today, and Bard told my father that he saw the taxi there, he went up, opened the door on one side, walked through the taxi, opened the door on the other side, and walked on, leaving the doors open.

That's the kind of character that has saved New York.

I have one personal footnote. I really think you ought to have some kind of medal of honor for those who stood up to Robert Moses. He was formidable, and he was formidable because of his acid pen. As I'm sure people have realized, in looking back at it, he had a special friend in Iphegenia Ochs Sulzberger, and because of that, whenever he wanted to attack what he regarded as a dim-witted bureaucrat, he would write a sizzling letter, and it would end up in the split-section of the Times, above the fold. And if you were the poor victim of that, you were excoriated in a way that was hard to recover from. The fact that Bard and others stood up against him was absolutely stupendous. My own personal footnote to that is that I was president of the Park Association (which later merged into the Parks Council, back in the early '60s), and we were very much upset about the nature of the playgrounds around the city. I had a trip over to England, took a lot of snapshots of London parks, and I wrote an article that the TimesMagazine published, called "London's Lessons for New York Parks." It took a swing at Moses, describing his playgrounds as having all the charm of a prison exercise yard. Well, it's fair to say he didn't care for it much, but he was no longer parks commissioner (Newbold Morris was), so he wrote a letter to Morris, and told Morris how he was to answer this piece in the Times. That letter is now in the municipal archives, down at the Hall of Records, where they have a hallway of framed letters from the early Dutch days to Moses' day, and there is Robert Moses' letter to Newbold Morris, telling him how to write and answer that "whippersnapper, Whitney North Seymour, Jr." I think it's probably the mildest term he ever used against anybody. I'm proud to be called a "whippersnapper."

TONY WOOD:  We all actually owe Robert Moses a great deal of thanks, because if he hadn't been "over the top" so much, I don't think he would have aggravated the very people we're celebrating tonight, who then helped make the landmarks law happen. But when I interviewed, I think it was, Harmon Goldstone, about what caused the landmarks law and made it all happen, he kept referring to Moses. Of course, I was thinking of the landmarks law in the '60s and the Penn Station story, so I thought, "Boy, I've gotten to Harmon too late. He's gotten it all mixed up." And, of course, when I did the research, I realized that it was particularly the fight with Moses over Castle Clinton, in the late '40s, that really turned the tide and got people focused on this. So thank you, I guess, in one sense, to Moses.

Doris Diether, one of the great Village fighters for many years, I hope is going to share some memories with us here, on some of what she was doing, and where Bard fit in.

DORIS DIETHER:  Well, actually, I think I met Bard once, at a party that was given by Save the Village, but the first mention I found of Albert Bard was in June, 1959, in The Villager. There was a little article, which was shown on the screen, "Architects Favor Setting Zoning," and one paragraph read: "State Senator McNeil Mitchell, who represents most of Greenwich Village in the state legislature at Albany, successfully sponsored a new state law that permits New York City and other municipalities in the state to zone for the preservation of historic and architectural values. Senator Mitchell was aided in the preparation of this enabling legislation by Albert S. Bard, prominent attorney and long a leader in the movement for historic, scenic and architectural safeguards."

This was a time when Save the Village was just getting started. It actually launched itself three months later, in September of '59. It was founded by a sculptor in the Village, Arnold Bergere, who was being evicted from his studio house on West 10th Street. He felt that the demolition of these historic buildings, these lovely town houses and so forth, shouldn't be happening. So he founded Save the Village, and put together quite an interesting staff of people to work with him on preserving the Village. Part of the thing was doing the survey of the Village, in preparation for both the landmarks law and the zoning law. The people he had on his panel that he put together were Bob Jacobs, who was Jane Jacobs' husband; Sammy Tankel, who was with the Regional Plan Association; Robert Weinberg, who was mentioned earlier, who was an architect and lived on Washington Square; and Arthur Holden. I was kind of the go-for. I went around and looked at the blocks, came back with reports on what the buildings were like, what the heights were, what the uses were, and this group of people sat down and actually drew up a zoning for the Village, at the same time the city was doing the 1960 zoning.

The city was very involved with doing citywide zoning. They were very pleased with having a group come in with a full zoning plan laid out for their own area, that matched what types of things that City Planning was doing. So the City Planning Commission essentially took this Village zoning, and incorporated it into the '60 zoning, and that was one of the major things that we did.

Save the Village had four goals. One of them was to work on this new 1960 zoning, to make sure it reflected what the Village was like. The second thing was kind of sneaky. We had a group working on an amendment to the 1916 zoning, that would lower the zoning on the side streets in the center of the Village, and the idea of that was that we knew there was going to be a grace period on the 1960 zoning, when it went in, and as you know, what happens during the grace period -- everybody puts their foundations in in a hurry, to get their buildings in under the old code. By pushing an amendment to the 1916 zoning, that went into effect immediately, so that stopped a good number of the grace-period buildings. At that time there were something like 100 buildings planned for the Village, of which, I think, ten got built. The third thing was to do something about the rent control laws, so they couldn't demolish buildings under the rent control law, get tenants out of buildings and demolish them. The fourth thing, of course, was the landmarks legislation.

A month after we started out committee, in October of '59, we had our first petition campaign. I'll read you a little thing on that. It says: "Save the Village seeks local volunteers -- 10,000 petition signers. Mr. Alan Marcus has announced the initial goal of 10,000 signatures. The first petition was signed by Albert S. Bard, a ninety-two-year-old pioneer in urban planning and author of the 1956 state law, sponsored by State Senator McNeil Mitchell, which enables city to protect aesthetic areas, such as Greenwich Village." It took us a while to get all the things done, but we finally did.

TONY WOOD:  Thank you, Doris.

I'm not going to put anyone else on the spot. I only called on people I knew for sure were going to speak, but I hope there might be others who have memories or stories of Bard they want to add to the official record. Otherwise, we can adjourn, and tell those stories, or others, over drinks and munchies, in the other room.

STAN TURKEL:  Thank you, Tony. Stanley Turkel is my name. For eleven years I was chairman of the board of the City Club of New York. When I was a new member of the City Club, back in 1963, the City Club was absolutely annoyed, upset, irritated by the poor state of New York's civic architecture -- the buildings that were being built with public funds for courthouses, municipal buildings of one kind or another -- so we created something called the Bard Awards, named after -- who else? -- but Albert S. Bard, who was still alive at the time. Let me just read a little bit to you about -- on the twentieth anniversary of that Bard award program we wrote a little history about what happened in the very first year. I'm going to give you an instruction about what you do in the first year you give a new award. Here's what happened.

"In the early '60s it was apparent that vast sums being spent on municipal construction was yielding mediocre building projects. The City Club felt that our world city should be better represented, by the best architecture possible." It goes on to talk about that. "The first jury that was selected met on March 4th, 1963, to consider twenty-four entries, representing the best efforts of the city's building program, since January 1st, 1958." Listen to who the jury consisted of: Gordon Bunshaft, then senior partner at Skidmore, Owings & Merrill; Charles Colbert, dean of the school of architecture at Columbia University; Jan Rowan, editor of Progressive Architecture; and, for the City Club, Richard S. Childs, no less, a former president of the City Club.

Well, that jury met, considered seven housing projects, four schools, two court buildings, two piers, a hospital, and eight other miscellaneous buildings. And guess what? The jury found that no building was worthy of an award.

So, I leave you only with that idea. If you're going to give a new award, the very first year you do it, give it to nobody, and what will happen will be what happened to the City Club. Front page stories in the New York Times (I have copies of them), talking about the city-held failure in architecture. "Architectural dynamite! City Club criticism of municipal design underscores the need for drastic reform." We published a booklet (what else do civic organizations do?): "The Bard Awards of 1963. A fruitless search for excellence in civic architecture."

So, thereafter, I might just tell you that three weeks after the initial jury meeting, and one month before the planned awards luncheon -- on March 25th, '63 -- Albert S. Bard died. I'm pleased to note, as you will, from what I just said -- it was three weeks after the jury said no building was worthy. So he must have known about that, and I'm pleased to record that for you. He was, of course, as you've heard before, ninety-six years old. He had joined the City Club in 1901, and was a trustee for all those intervening years. He did 100 other things, as you well know, but there you have it.

Let me just finish by telling you that the City Club said in this booklet (it wasn't satisfied just not to give the award), "Clearly, the City Club made six recommendations. (A) A statement of policy by the Mayor, to be followed by a directive calling for the highest standards of public buildings; (B) Appointment by the Mayor of distinguished architects to consider and select architectural firms for public building projects; (C) Modification of the panel selection process for appropriate projects; and then three more, about paying the proper fees to attract good architectural firms. In those years (the city did) as little as possible, and got, for its efforts, mediocre buildings. So we even suggested that New York City media hire architectural critics. Indeed, Ada Louise Huxtable had her first job in that capacity, at the New York Times, as a consequence of this [ ? ] --

So I leave you with these ideas and thoughts. The City Club went on, as I said, for twenty-five years, to give Bard awards. Subsequently, the awards were expanded to include private architecture as well, and in every other successive year awards were given, and architecture did get better.

TONY:  Dorothy?

Q:  I have a question. I realize the ordinary man on the street may not think of it as the Bard Act, but in preservation we all do think it's the Bard Act. In fact, he was not in the legislature; he did not introduce it; and his name is not attached to it. For that reason, how have we come to know it, do you think, as the Bard Act?

TONY WOOD:  I don't actually know the answer to that, but I do have a way to make the question even more interesting. In the obituary on Bard, in the Amherst alumni publication (a very long obituary), they note that Bard was involved in many efforts around the country to help ban billboards, and that those laws were known as "Bard Acts," across the country. So maybe they were mixing up their facts, but it's interesting.

I don't know why. I don't know. We'll have to continue investigating.

I think we'll pull this to a close. Everyone's been wonderfully patient. I just want to end by thanking a few people quickly. Lisa Ackerman and the Kress Foundation -- and we couldn't have made any of this progress without the wonderful support of the Kress Foundation. Thank you, Lisa; Vicki, thank you, and MAS, for providing the space tonight; a special thanks to Rudie Hurwitz, who has done a yeoman's -- a yeoperson's -- job in helping me put this together this evening; Richard George is doing the videotaping for us; and also, a special thanks to the manuscript and archive division of the New York Public Library, where all the Bard treasures are held.

Thank you, again. Let's adjourn, and have a glass of wine.