Look for the space stretching beneath and alongside the elevated bridge, defined by wide concrete pedestrian walkways and the striking steel and glass brick structure tucked right under the viaduct's central arch.
Welcome to Pershing Square. Named in nineteen nineteen after World War One General John J. Pershing, this spot was initially supposed to be a massive, block-long open plaza featuring a grand three-story memorial called Victory Hall. But Fiorello La Guardia, the fiery politician who would later become mayor and get an airport named after him, absolutely hated the idea and shut it down. Take a glance at your screen to see a historical nineteen nineteen rendering of what they originally envisioned for the space. The city then tried to sell the empty lot in May of nineteen twenty for two point eight million dollars. To put that in perspective, that is over forty million bucks in today's money. When the auctioneer asked for bids, absolutely no one raised a hand. Crickets! Eventually, a real estate investor bought it and chopped the block up for massive office buildings. So, the grand Pershing Square name ended up getting slapped onto just the service roads alongside the viaduct.
Let us talk about that enclosed space right under the bridge. Originally, it was a trolley barn, a large municipal garage where electric streetcars were parked and repaired overnight. In nineteen thirty-eight, the city decided to dress it up, building that steel and glass brick structure to serve as a tourist information center for the nineteen thirty-nine New York World's Fair. During World War Two, the space was taken over by the U-S-O, the United Service Organizations, to offer support and entertainment for military personnel. Over the next few decades, the space had an identity crisis. It became a visitors bureau, then an unemployment office in the nineteen eighties, and eventually a deeply glamorous discount retail shop.
In the nineteen nineties, a local partnership pitched an idea to close the roads to traffic and turn the space under the bridge into a high-end restaurant. They hired a restaurateur named Michael O'Keeffe to operate it. The city had budgeted two million dollars for the renovation, but O'Keeffe was a total perfectionist. He demanded the use of slot-headed screws, since those were the only type available when the viaduct was originally built. He also insisted on importing chairs and electric cords all the way from Paris, and demanded a painstaking hand-rubbed paint scheme. This obsession with historical detail drove the renovation costs up to five million dollars and pushed the grand opening back by several months. But the Pershing Square Cafe finally opened its doors in nineteen ninety-seven.
In recent years, the city finally realized that people preferred walking and eating here rather than dodging taxi cabs. Starting in twenty eighteen, the local government spent millions of dollars to permanently close the roadways. They ripped out the old traffic lanes and built the beautiful asphalt and concrete pedestrian plazas with built-in rain gardens that you are standing on right now.
It took a century of false starts and squabbles, but General Pershing finally got a beautiful public square. Take your time enjoying the new plaza, and whenever you are ready, we can stroll to our next spot.
