EMPIRE STATE BUILDING DWARFS OLDER SKYSCRAPERS
Brooklyn Standard Union 2 May 1931 City Like Some Relief Map From Dizzy 102nd Story Crowds at Opening Awed-Once Blind Youth Thrilled By Dixie TIGHE The Empire State Building is still in a high state of celebration to-day. The elevators are just about run ragged and people peer from its unbelievable altitudes until the poor little one-time skyscrapers shrivel into miserable stone dwarfs. The Empire State Building had a housewarming yesterday, with President HOOVER turning on the lights from Washington, and ex-Gov. Alfred E. SMITH, who merely conceived and fostered the construction of New York's magnificent giant, seeing that his grandchildren severed the tape that symbolized the grand entrance to his favorite edifice. The trouble with the Empire State Building is that there are more floors than adjectives. It becomes a bit trying to try and make comments on 102 floors and taking it by feet, even the better dictionaries are a little shy on words that aptly describe the grandeur of a 1,252 rise from the street. If the simple elegance of the extensive lobby doesn't overwhelm you, it's a matter of better mechanics to be whisked to the eighty-sixth floor. These low-grade elevators are maddening. It's necessary to change at 86 for the 102d floor. BIRDSEYE VIEW OF CITY The eighty-sixth floor yesterday was in a receptive mood. It was the floor where visitors looked out of windows and said, "Isn't it cute?" when they looked at the Chrysler Building and said, "Who left that pile of stones down there?" as they gazed below at the blushing buildings eclipsed by Mr. SMITH's own building. On the eighty-sixth floor is the elevator that leads to the 102nd floor where the buildings seem to have grown taller rather than shorter. If you know your optical illusions, that one may be simple, but to a building novice it was quite disconcerting to find that the Chrysler Building had grown up into a great, big, beautiful spire. By sighting the tip of the Chrysler spire from the ledge of the railing on the 102nd floor there isn't any. But unless you went rifle-range on the Chrysler Building it seemed to be piercing the sky with its tip. Brooklyn was lost in the fog. There was a thick haze and all that could be seen across the river was an occasional smokestack protruding a gray height through an enlightening stretch of drifting white smoke. Central Park, off in the distance, looked only like a rough landing field and most of New York's buildings that go to make up a world famous skyline were dreary sprouts with a sporadic, massive, white building looking as if they had their faces washed for the occasion. UP TO THE MOORING MAST There are observatory decks on the 101st and 102d floors - but who wants to stay downstairs on them when you can see the tower of Mr. SMITH's building looming far above you. A little cajoling of a nice construction man resulted in being escorted to the top of the Empire State Building. And when we say top - we mean top. Up a wooden ladder into the darkness of an enclosure still in the process of construction. And, ladies, if anyone asks you up, fish out the riding breeches. Then up a steel stairway into the light and on to an inverted dishpan, a mere fifteen feet wide. And, my goodness, if everything hadn't grown more! You could almost tell time by Mr. PARAMOUNT's clocks. The haze had lifted and a bright sun had apparently come out for the underdog, and was sparkling on the poor little buildings that were begging for notice. There was still another shore ladder that led up to a cocky weather vane that was twisting above like a whirling dervish. Up this and touch the weather vane, look down, and come down. It's easier going up than coming down - back to the eighty-sixth floor, and there was Earl MUSSELMAN, the boy who once blind and who yesterday stood on the balcony of the 102d floor, and pointed out the Chrysler Building and traced the outline of the city's jagged water line on the window pane. ONCE BLIND, HE'S AWED He peered from that window enclosure as if the power and the blessedness of sight was too much a joy to ever turn from its revelations. "I see water and great white buildings. I never knew New York was so little. Its looks to me like such a lot of everything and so little of anything - this is the treat of my life." Sight has come slowly to this boy who has found a new life through his eyes. His eagerness is a thing apart from average enthusiasm. He has seen his dream and found fulfillment far in excess of imagination. "What is that white space?" he asked. And, then his eyes grew used to the "white space" that he thought was moving. "Now, I see, I see - it's smoke." His confusion is lessening and as he looks to find new things he cries out in amazement. "Now I get that. It's beautiful, so beautiful." His viewing New York, lying like a rugged valley in the foothills of a man-made mountain of stone, was practically his first conception of depth. He has looked into the distance and stared up to the sky, and yesterday he searched the depths for response to his sight - and found it. Last night, the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building was converted into a dance floor. The city was twinkling bright-eyed at New York's tallest monitor. Transcriber: Barbara Stein Back To MANHATTAN Main Back To BROOKLYN Main