4 min
Philadelphia’s Independence Hall has long occupied an outsized place in the American imagination. The space where the Continental Army was established, the Declaration of Independence adopted and the United States Constitution ratified, the site was once described by President Abraham Lincoln as the source “where were collected together the wisdom, the patriotism, the devotion to principle, from which sprang the institutions under which we live.” In July, these hallowed grounds will yet again take center stage, as the country observes its semiquincentennial, or America250, celebration. In due course, House lawmakers will gather at the landmark for a special commemorative event, mayors from across the U.S. will march to the gates in a show of civic pride and solidarity, and thousands of visitors will flock to the site daily in appreciation for its significance to the cause of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” However, while Independence Hall’s role in the national saga will go widely remarked and recognized, the building itself has a story that remains largely unknown. According to Whitney Martinko, PhD, associate professor of History and director of the Albert Lepage Center for History in the Public Interest at Villanova University, the “cradle of American democracy” almost never survived the country’s infancy. “Early on, the challenge was about two things,” says Dr. Martinko, who specializes in public history, historic preservation and the early U.S. “One was about ownership of what was called the ‘Old State House,’ because it was the former statehouse in the colony of Pennsylvania. And the second was about the development of the city around it.” As Dr. Martinko explains, in the early 19th century, Independence Hall—then the Old State House—was under the control of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, which had shifted its governmental seat from Philadelphia to Harrisburg in 1799. To fund the construction of a new capitol building in the wake of the move, Pennsylvania legislators seriously contemplated selling the site to private enterprise, with the surrounding area undergoing a development boom. “Today’s Independence Mall was built up entirely,” says Dr. Martinko. “In the 18th century, it was full of buildings, shops and houses, and by the 19th century, it had become a huge furniture district and a heart of commerce in many ways.” As plans were drawn up to deliver the hall to the highest bidder, local resistance quickly emerged. Opposed to the landmark’s loss, citizens of Philadelphia and municipal leaders rushed to the defense of the building and its lawn, arguing that their preservation entailed a necessary public good. “Everyone looked to this site as the heart of the new nation. It’s a historic site. It’s an important building. People thought of it as one of the great pieces of Georgian architecture at the time,” says Dr. Martinko. “It was also seen as a civic space, as people gathered there on Election Day. And its lawn was highly valued, with green, open space considered important even then, for air circulation. So, it was really seen as a political space, a civic space and a green space that was important for the well-being of Philadelphians and the health of Philadelphia.” Deliberations over the fate of Independence Hall would continue for a period of five years, up until 1818. After a spirited public campaign, a settlement was finally reached when the City of Philadelphia purchased the plot from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania for $70,000 (roughly $1.85 million in today’s currency). In essence, the deal would forevermore secure Independence Hall’s place within the pantheon of great American shrines, parks and monuments. However, in a terrific irony, it would also eventually lead to the loss of a different piece of history: Between 1950 and 1967, the 19th-century development projects that once threatened Independence Hall became a casualty of the city’s efforts to make the “birthplace of America” an urban focal point, with the creation of Independence Mall. “Those buildings were all torn down in the mid-20th century, when Ed Bacon and the City Planning Commission decided to make Independence Hall a major attraction,” says Dr. Martinko. “There were debates surrounding this issue as well. The Jayne Building was one of the 19th-century buildings that was demolished and that is most well-known. So, there’s this sense of preserving 18th-century history through the demolition of 19th-century architecture.” As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, the near loss of Independence Hall and the removal of its 19th-century neighbors stand as striking examples of the ways in which what we value, and how much we value it, evolves over time. What’s more, the historic threats to Philadelphia’s most famous site serve as a poignant reminder of the delicate nature of public memory and preservation—and the fact that the places we treasure today may not always be with us tomorrow. “Even though it seems absurd to us now, we’re still seeing debates over the line between redevelopment and connection with the past,” concludes Dr. Martinko. “It’s not that no one saw the value of Independence Hall, or that they didn’t see it as historic. It was just this debate that a lot of very reasonable people continue to have today: Is this what really needs to be preserved? And how should it be preserved?”
