Down Town Brooklyn: A Report to the Comptroller of the City of New York on Sites for Public Buildings and the Relocation of the Elevated Railroad Tracks now in Lower Fulton Street, Borough of Brooklyn

In Short

This administrative document records the findings of a citizens' committee appointed in 1913 to address Brooklyn's urban development. Tasked with reconciling the need for a new courthouse and municipal building with the persistent nuisance of elevated railway tracks in Fulton Street, the committee evaluates six distinct planning proposals. By weighing costs, traffic flow, and architectural aesthetics, the text offers a snapshot of early twentieth-century civic ambition, capturing the moment Brooklyn moved from an independent city to a major borough seeking its own permanent, organized identity within Greater New York.

The Story

The story begins with a direct challenge from Comptroller William A. Prendergast: Brooklyn’s downtown, the "front door" of the borough, is neglected and unsightly. The area around Borough Hall is cluttered with inadequate transit infrastructure, and the city’s judicial and administrative offices are scattered, inefficient, and poorly housed. A committee of ten prominent citizens is tasked with finding a way to integrate four critical projects: a new courthouse, a municipal building, a modern bridge terminal, and the relocation of the elevated tracks that currently loop through and deface the historic district.

As the committee investigates, the narrative arc follows their methodical rejection of isolated solutions. They examine six different plans, each involving varying sites for the proposed buildings and different approaches to track relocation. Some plans, like placing the courthouse on Clinton Street or the Flatbush Avenue Extension, are dismissed because they fail to create a cohesive civic center or because they place public buildings in inconvenient, noisy, or disconnected locations. Throughout this analysis, the committee balances the reality of the city's limited borrowing capacity against the necessity of creating a monumental, orderly environment.

The climax of the committee's work is the proposal of a definitive, unified plan. They ultimately argue that the most effective path forward is to house the new municipal building on a site near the bridge—allowing for a grander entrance—and to reconstruct the new courthouse on the existing site. By grouping these buildings, they aim to create a "civic center" that anchors the neighborhood, improves street circulation, and provides the necessary scale to accommodate the borough’s future growth.

The document ends with the committee’s formal recommendations and a minority report. While there is consensus on the main goals, the minority members advocate for a more aggressive land acquisition strategy to ensure the bridge approach is not marred by unsightly rear-wall billboards. They emphasize that a half-measure will not suffice; to truly elevate the district, the city must own the visual narrative of the streetscape. The report concludes with detailed technical suggestions, from the design of lamp posts to the planting of trees, envisioning an urban environment where every detail contributes to a "harmony of high order." It is a final, confident pitch for a structured, beautified Brooklyn that treats its public space as a legacy.

How It Unfolds

The mandate is established The Comptroller identifies the urgent need for a unified policy, highlighting that Brooklyn cannot thrive without a coherent civic center that manages traffic, transit, and public architecture as a single, interdependent system.

The committee surveys the landscape The report assesses the economic reality of a post-consolidation New York, noting that while Brooklyn now shares the tax benefits of Manhattan, it must practice strict economy to gain necessary infrastructure.

The alternatives are tested The committee methodically reviews six different configurations, demonstrating why isolated building sites—however convenient they might appear in the short term—would fail to revitalize the downtown core.

The preferred solution emerges The members settle on a plan that concentrates municipal functions around a new courthouse and plaza, arguing that this strategy maximizes the utility of existing land and creates a focal point for the borough.

The final touches are proposed The report concludes by detailing the aesthetics of the project, including tree-planting, street paving, and lighting, insisting that the ultimate success of the project rests on the careful execution of these small-scale design elements.

The People

The book is driven by the collective voice of the Committee of Ten, including figures like Frederic B. Pratt, Edward M. Bassett, and Alfred T. White. These men operate as pragmatic visionaries; they are not merely bureaucrats, but civic-minded leaders who perceive the city as a living organism that requires careful surgery to function properly. They hold the desire to elevate Brooklyn’s status to compete with other major cities like Chicago, while simultaneously navigating the restrictive debt limits imposed by the state.

William A. Prendergast, the Comptroller, acts as the catalyst. He provides the initial push, demanding an end to "divergent views" and calling for "intelligent and united action." He represents the political will necessary to move from discussion to policy.

The Minority of the Committee—composed of Howard O. Wood, Frank C. Munson, and James H. Post—acts as a refined, slightly more aggressive conscience. While they agree with the main report, their dissent regarding the acquisition of additional blocks demonstrates a concern for the long-term visual integrity of the city. They are the ones who worry about the "momentary glimpse" of the traveler, ensuring that the project’s legacy isn't ruined by the "rear walls" and "billboards" of poorly maintained private buildings. Together, these men attempt to balance the cold calculus of finance with a deep, almost artistic, commitment to civic pride.

In Its Own Voice

"No city can hope to improve and brighten itself and still neglect its front door."

The committee explains the necessity of addressing the bridge entrance, which they view as the defining threshold for Brooklyn's image.

"If these buildings are placed in isolated locations where they have no relation to one another nor to the borough center, it will be most unfortunate."

This line encapsulates the core argument against piecemeal planning, favoring instead a clustered, cohesive development.

"The facade of the court house must be designed as a foil to the broken silhouette of the Borough Hall and its cupola."

The report moves beyond mere logistics to consider the visual impact of the new architecture on the existing skyline.

What It's Really About

At its heart, the book is about the struggle for identity in a rapidly consolidating metropolis. It grapples with the transition of Brooklyn from a distinct, independent city into a borough that must negotiate for resources within the larger framework of Greater New York. The text asks: How does a civic center define a community? The authors argue that public buildings are not merely functional boxes for records and trials; they are the architectural anchors that hold a city together. The underlying question is whether it is possible to achieve "civic patriotism" through careful, expert-led planning. It is a work concerned with the power of the environment to influence public behavior, suggesting that dignity in infrastructure leads to dignity in public life.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of urban planning or the physical evolution of New York City will find this report fascinating. It captures the specific, high-minded optimism of the Progressive Era, where experts believed that civic problems could be solved through engineering, architecture, and logical arrangement. The book feels like a historical artifact of a time when "city beautiful" ideals began to collide with the rigid constraints of municipal finance and rapid transit expansion.

You will encounter the formal, slightly detached tone of early twentieth-century municipal writing, which may feel dense at times. The text does not shy away from the granular details of assessed property values or the specific mechanics of interior light courts, which requires patience from the reader. However, the reward is a clear, vivid window into how the city was thought into existence. It reveals the long-forgotten arguments that shaped the very streets one walks today. For those who enjoy seeing the "bones" of a city—why the courthouses are where they are and how the elevated tracks were finally tamed—this is an essential document. It remains a poignant reminder that the streets and plazas we inhabit are the result of deliberate, often difficult, choices made by people who cared deeply about the future of their home.