“How a state chooses to represent itself, artistically and architecturally, speaks volumes about how its citizenry wishes to perceive itself at the particular moment of a capitol building’s creation.” – Ingrid Steffensen
The day the security guard handed me my “key to the kingdom” in the form of a swipe card, I decided to take time every day during my internship with the House of Representatives to explore the Pennsylvania Capitol, a building that is a haven in a broken and battered city. But I soon realized that I needed to step outside the Capitol too, to see a different reality of the city.
I cannot remember a time I did not find myself intrigued with the beautiful craftsmanship of previous generations; whether it is simply a doorknob, or a huge plantation manor, every aspect of its history draws me in. Perhaps that is why I am so fascinated with the Pennsylvania State Capitol. The emerald tiles of the dome set against an azure sky dotted with fluffy clouds always makes me smile.
The Capitol, standing in downtown Harrisburg two blocks from the Susquehanna River, is the third building that Pennsylvanians have had the pleasure to call theirs, and unarguably it is the most impressive. In 1902, Joseph Miller Houston designed the current Capitol in a contest set on replacing the brick “Cobb” Capitol. The Cobb was plain, unadorned and could easily have blended in with the smokestacks of any manufacturing town. But the building standing today eventually won the contest and outdid anything Pennsylvanians had ever seen before. The building still houses all three branches of the state’s government under one roof, but, for most, it is better known as being a masterpiece of immense proportion. All 600-plus rooms exude awe and artistry.
The plans created by Houston brought together the best Pennsylvania artisans, people like George Grey Barnard, Violet Oakley, Henry Chapman Mercer and Edwin Austin Abbey, who incorporated stained glass, paintings and sculptures. Designed in the Beaux Arts style, the Capitol’s halls also boast elements of Renaissance design. In fact, scholars claim that Houston introduced well-known European architecture to the people of Pennsylvania.
The room that most consider the greatest display of the arts is the main rotunda. The wide Vermont marble staircase matches the Grand Staircase at the Paris Opera House. The terra cotta dome, visible from all over the city, resembles St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. This rotunda is the axis of all activity in the Capitol. People from every reach of government mix with the curious tourists and school tours.
When I was in fourth grade, my class took one of those school tours. I can remember standing in the middle of the rotunda floor and staring up into the paintings and gold-gilded heights. I remember feeling like I was going to fall backwards as I lost my sense of balance and reality. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, like a glimpse into heaven with its gold streets. Perhaps, if that were true, my school chorus and I were the angels praising the glory of it all from the staircase.
On the few lucky instances where I have found myself in the rotunda alone, I have felt the weight of history and the lost decorum of times past, and it is humbling. I can almost see President Roosevelt there on Oct. 4, 1906 during the dedication, declaring it the “handsomest building I ever saw,” a moment immortalized by a carved tile marking the place where he stood. His tile is just one of 400 tiles picturing the history, animals, industries, occupations and transportation of Pennsylvania in a grand canvas of folk art.
Another subtle detail that intrigues me is the bronze doors standing sentinel. In the rush to get through security and into the large, open space of the 272-foot-high ceiling, the 17-foot doors are easy to miss since they are always open and pushed to the side. The doors are carved with the three-dimensional heads of individuals who helped design and construct the building, according to the brochure available a few steps inside. The head of Huston lifts to reveal the keyhole to unlock the Capitol.
This place stands as a memorial to the Pennsylvanians who helped develop this commonwealth and their determination to maintain a strong government run by and appreciated by citizens. While the building was valued at $13 million at the time of its creation, it is deemed priceless in today’s economy. While the building is one of the few truly beautiful and valuable pieces of history left to the state, it isn’t far from the Capitol that I have encountered other realities of the capital city’s people.
I first was introduced to the reality of the city during the first month of my internship with the public relations department. About a block from the Capitol building is a parking garage full of Mercedes and BMWs mixed with more moderately priced vehicles. I was shocked to find that in the block between this parking garage and the Capitol is a very busy soup kitchen. When you drive down the alley to the garage, you pass the homeless and down-on-their-luck people waiting at the doors for their breakfast. I noticed that these people watch the constant stream of cars pass them by and couldn’t help but wonder if they feel neglected and forgotten in the midst of the bustle of downtown.
The second time I was struck by the reality of the city was toward the end of my internship. I came down the alley and saw a young man who had taken shelter under a dirty blanket he had pinned to the brick wall. He was cold, wrapped in blankets and huddled under the blanket tent. I was sad to see that this man had only a blanket to buffer him from the cold rain coming down, when there was a building less than a block away that boasts gold leafing and Italian marble. This is a story echoed down every street and alley of the city of Harrisburg.
If you step out two blocks from the Capitol to Front Street along the river, there are stately old mansions that are now housing different interest groups and associations. These homes are well maintained and historically stunning. The riverfront park is well-kept, and men in suits and joggers spend sunny afternoons enjoying the view. One night, as I walked to the Market Street Bridge, I heard a man’s tone rise and ebb against the arches and echo back down to the river’s water beneath. His song of worship to God lent an air of awe to the sunset over City Island. There was a woman walking on the sidewalk beside a furry white rabbit who would hop off the path to inspect a bush. “He makes a better husband than my real one when he won’t leave his video games,” she told me, motioning to the rabbit. They are the people of Pennsylvania.
Not far from this bridge, under an overpass to I-83, is where several of the city’s homeless have created their own little drifter camp. Their tents are braced against the support columns of the interstate, covered in tarps with trash bags surrounding them to keep their few belongings from the weather. The camp is easy to miss, and the only reason I saw it one day was when I caught a glimpse of a man stumbling toward the ramp with an empty water bottle. He looked tired and disheveled. I wondered where he had come from and was shocked when I looked back under the interstate and saw the answer. Just like the man under the bridge, and the woman and her pet rabbit, he too is one of the people of Pennsylvania.
This city, full of beauty, eccentrics and dishevelment is our state capital, a place of both wealth and poverty. The people who make up Pennsylvania can see the beauty, and yet, there are those who have also seen the very worst of what the commonwealth has to offer. But there is one great treasure that all of these people can call their own. It stands as a testament to better days, to past and present glories. Its emerald dome stands as a beacon of hope above the city skyline; it is a Palace of Bygone Days.
Ashley Sheaffer is a senior English major at Penn State Harrisburg. She continues to work for the Pennsylvania House of Representatives.
