A Crowning Achievement

It’s hard to escape Pittsburgh. Everywhere I go it’s always there, in one way or another. The Statue of Liberty is no exception. At the behest of my 7-year-old grandson, Henry, we booked a visit to climb to her crown. Since the bookings must be made six months in advance, due to her popularity, and that the National Park Service only allows 500 people per day up to the crown, we found ourselves there on a cold, rainy February day, two days before a historic blizzard would shut down New York City.

We arrived to pick up our tickets at Battery Park, very close to Castle Clinton, a fort built in 1808-1821 to defend New York Harbor. However, Battery Park is under construction and we had to walk almost the whole perimeter of the park to the only accessible entrance. We hurried back across the park to the ferry terminal where we went through a very thorough airport-style security screening; dripping wet coats, hats, scarves, gloves, boots, bags, and watches all into bins and then quickly put back on to stand, in the rain, in line to board the ferry.

We were some of the last people to get on the ferry, and it was standing room only on the lower level because of the inclement weather, so we stood on the covered aft deck. I soon noticed the other passengers had their cell phones out and were taking pictures so I stuck my head out the side to take a look and was absolutely stunned. There she was. Liberty Enlightening the World…her given name. She is massive, majestic, striking and beautiful. I let out a gasp and a chill ran down my spine that was not weather-related. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be an immigrant arriving after an arduous journey across the Atlantic, sick, tired, poor, hoping and praying for a better, free life and to see her come into view. Tears welled in my eyes.

That feeling didn’t last long, because we were soon hustled off the ferry (the ride is only 15 minutes) into sideways freezing rain. We were directed to the pedestal and crown access security screening building. The walk is only a quarter of a mile, which would have been lovely on probably any other day of the year, but felt like a mile today. Once again everything, much wetter now, came off into bins and was put back on so we could go back outside and walk still further to the entrance of the pedestal.

Once there we were met by a park ranger, who clearly wasn’t happy about her assignment that day. She told us we weren’t allowed to take any bags with us inside. “I mean, NO BAGS. Period,” she said.

My daughter, Maggie, Henry’s mother, and I each had very small cross-body bags with us with our phones and wallets in them. We asked her what we were supposed to do with them and she pointed behind us to racks of very small metal lockers that are available to rent for a quarter. I would like to point out that we weren’t the only people who didn’t understand or were unaware of the “no-bag policy” because she was yelling at everyone else, too.

We went to the lockers, took off our sodden gloves, searched for a quarter, which I miraculously had, stuffed our phones and wallets into our coat pockets and locked up our bags. We got back in line, showed the park ranger our waterlogged tickets and we were in. Maggie and I agreed that our hands had never been so cold.

The pedestal is a beautiful, 151-feet tall, 10-story granite structure. Inside, it’s large, open and clean with a mezzanine around the top that houses a museum. It was completed in 1886 and funded by the American people to serve as the base for our gift from France, given to us in 1876 to commemorate the centennial of American independence and the abolition of slavery. There are 215 steps up to the top of the pedestal or you can take an elevator. Once you are at the top of the pedestal there are about 12 more steps up to the base of the statue, and then 162 steps up to the crown. We took the elevator.

We arrived at the base and presented our tickets, for the fourth time, to a cheerful park ranger. She gave us wristbands and asked where we were from. I was wearing the only baseball cap I own, and it has Pittsburgh written across the front of it, so I pointed to it. She said, “Oh, I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Pittsburgh. My sister went to Duquesne. Here’s something interesting for you…take a step back and look up at that beam.”

There on a huge beam was the name Carnegie. The statue had been built in France and then disassembled and shipped to the United States — there are two sets of four vertical iron girders inside the pedestal, sunken into the concrete and bolted to the statue to provide tension and stability (she sways three inches in heavy winds).

The 162 steps up to the crown are a double-helix design allowing for separate, one-direction flow, one up and one down. The steps are narrow (eight inches wide and pie shaped) with a double railing on the side. After about the first 10 steps, I started using my hands to effectively crawl up, because the steps are nine inches high. We reached the second platform, which I guess was probably somewhere around her waist, when my panic attack hit.

I had made the mistake of looking out to my right. I told Maggie and Henry to go on without me, I was going back down. But I was too paralyzed with fear to move. I stood there trembling until a group came up behind me. Now I was really stuck. “How much further do you think?” I asked. They said they thought we were halfway. I was going to be really disappointed with myself if I didn’t do this. Then I heard Henry’s voice from above, steeled myself (pun intended) and continued up. It somehow seemed easier than going down. I started to hear Maggie and Henry talking to other people and yelled up, “I’m coming!” delighted with myself. I don’t think they cared. And all of a sudden I was in the crown. I could relax.

The crown is surprisingly large and manned by two park rangers. The view is supposed to be spectacular but given the weather all I could see was grayness and rain, and I didn’t dare look down.

There are 25 windows of varying sizes that can be opened inward and, guess what? They were made in Pittsburgh. In 1984 the statue underwent a two-year, $250 million restoration. The project included replacing the torch, replacing the iron ribs with stainless steel, strengthening the rays and replacing the windows. The new windows were made by Traco (originally Three Rivers Aluminum Company), a major Pittsburgh manufacturer of high-performance windows, doors and skylights.

While we were up there, we were shown a binder of old photos of the crown. Surprisingly, people used to write their names and stick their gum on the wavy underside of her hair. Shortly, the next group arrived in the crown and it was time to make our descent. You are allowed to spend 10 minutes in the crown. For me, going down was more frightening than going up because I couldn’t crawl. I only looked at my feet, panicked again at the halfway point and was never so excited to get on an elevator as I was when we reached the pedestal.

We exited the pedestal, went back to the lockers, retrieved our bags, and as Henry said, “Wow! We got our quarter back!”

We slogged back through the rain, and got on the ferry. And I think (hope) we (and the 4.5 million people who visit her each year) were all thinking the same thing. It was what we were telling Henry. She is a poignant and magnificent symbol of freedom, democracy, hope, and new beginnings. It was a privilege and honor to visit her and I felt right at home. Happy 140th birthday, Lady Liberty!