HYLAND
stifling heat (and treating them as well to a dose of the city's
signature aroma: a blend of garbage and horse dung).
They might see stylishly dressed Manhattanites out and
about. A closer look would reveal those sophisticates
to be red-faced, panting, and
unsophisticatedly drenched
in sweat. It was considered
impolite to notice.
In New York or anywhere
else, if it was hot outdoors, it
was going to be even hotter
indoors. Should a trip to the
theater be involved, this meant
that the performance would
be a memorable experience—
unhappily memorable, as
the most wretched part of
a torturous evening. In the
nineteenth century, summer
heat was a problem that the
vast majority of architects
hadn't quite learned how
to handle; "ventilation" was
the fanciest antidote they
could offer. And when it
came to theaters, ventilation
was practically nonexistent. Since Voltaire's time, the
average theater had been designed as a pressure-
cooker: windowless (to kill outside light and sound)
Above: When indoor rooms became too
stifling to endure, many city dwellers...
headed to their rooftops. But each hot
night was followed by the next day's
reports of sleepers who had rolled off
and plunged to their deaths. New York
Public Library.
