To the People of Cincinnati
I've been asked to write the program welcome letter for the Oct. 14, 2006, rededication ceremony for the Tyler Davidson Fountain in Cincinnati.
To the People of Cincinnati
With those words, six score and 15 years ago this month, Henry Probasco dedicated the Tyler Davidson Fountain. In memorializing his friend, brother-in-law and business partner, he left the city with more than what was intended to be an "object of beauty and utility." Probasco's gift symbolized the spiritual center of a vibrant and growing community.
The Pennsylvania native commissioned the fountain from a German foundry in 1867, following Davidson's death two years before. As early as 1860, Probasco and Davidson discussed the idea of contributing a public fountain in appreciation for the financial success they'd enjoyed at the helm of the Tyler Davidson Hardware Co. Cincinnati had been kind to the two men, and they wanted to return the favor.
Because plans were not formalized prior to Davidson's death, Probasco left in 1866 for a tour of European foundries that ultimately led him to suitable drawings by Bavarian painter and sculptor August von Kreling. Unlike other fountains of the day that featured classic or mythological figures, these sketches depicted people enjoying the blessings of water for pleasure, salvation and sustenance. High above stood the "Genius of Water," a 9-foot-tall woman with outstretched arms representing Mother Nature. She dispensed water from her palms, all the while casting a protective gaze over the city that called her into being.
At the Oct. 6, 1871, dedication, the 43-foot-high fountain sat on a raised walkway several dozen yards west of its current location, facing east to greet the morning sun. As horse-drawn carriages gave way to motorized vehicles and downtown traffic became increasingly congested, the city, in 1971, moved the bronze-and-granite fountain to a large plaza at the northeast corner of Fifth and Vine streets. The Lady, refreshed from a restoration on the occasion of her centennial anniversary, now looked west toward the new city center.
In rededicating the Tyler Davidson Fountain, we reflect on the generations of Cincinnatians and the countless millions of visitors who have made their way to this space. Through the unforeseeable ways that public places become private landscapes, they embraced the fountain as Probasco must have hoped they would but could scarcely have imagined. They made it their own. And as with any gift with true meaning, the legacy of the fountain grew in the giving and the receiving -- and the giving back again.
For more than 130 years, the People's Fountain presided over the historic and everyday moments of our lives: wartime victory celebrations, World Series championships, summertime concerts and brown bag lunches. Couples married. Children played. Friends met and reminisced. Others tossed a coin in the water, wishing for a turn of good luck, ice-skated beneath the festive lights or caught a cooling mist on a hot afternoon.
In our gathering today, we follow in their footsteps: Cincinnati has been good to us, and we want to return the favor. Like any community worth its salt, ours met -- and will surely face again -- myriad challenges determined to test our individual and collective resolve. Yet we have hope in this city of neighborhoods, our courage and strength articulated in what Probasco called the fountain's "voiceless eloquence." Signs of Cincinnati's resilience abound, from the renovation of Fountain and Government squares to the continuing vitality of the downtown business district and the re-emergence of the city center as a place to live, work and play.
To the People of Cincinnati
With those words, six score and 15 years ago this month, Henry Probasco dedicated the Tyler Davidson Fountain. In memorializing his friend, brother-in-law and business partner, he left the city with more than what was intended to be an "object of beauty and utility." Probasco's gift symbolized the spiritual center of a vibrant and growing community.
The Pennsylvania native commissioned the fountain from a German foundry in 1867, following Davidson's death two years before. As early as 1860, Probasco and Davidson discussed the idea of contributing a public fountain in appreciation for the financial success they'd enjoyed at the helm of the Tyler Davidson Hardware Co. Cincinnati had been kind to the two men, and they wanted to return the favor.
Because plans were not formalized prior to Davidson's death, Probasco left in 1866 for a tour of European foundries that ultimately led him to suitable drawings by Bavarian painter and sculptor August von Kreling. Unlike other fountains of the day that featured classic or mythological figures, these sketches depicted people enjoying the blessings of water for pleasure, salvation and sustenance. High above stood the "Genius of Water," a 9-foot-tall woman with outstretched arms representing Mother Nature. She dispensed water from her palms, all the while casting a protective gaze over the city that called her into being.
At the Oct. 6, 1871, dedication, the 43-foot-high fountain sat on a raised walkway several dozen yards west of its current location, facing east to greet the morning sun. As horse-drawn carriages gave way to motorized vehicles and downtown traffic became increasingly congested, the city, in 1971, moved the bronze-and-granite fountain to a large plaza at the northeast corner of Fifth and Vine streets. The Lady, refreshed from a restoration on the occasion of her centennial anniversary, now looked west toward the new city center.
In rededicating the Tyler Davidson Fountain, we reflect on the generations of Cincinnatians and the countless millions of visitors who have made their way to this space. Through the unforeseeable ways that public places become private landscapes, they embraced the fountain as Probasco must have hoped they would but could scarcely have imagined. They made it their own. And as with any gift with true meaning, the legacy of the fountain grew in the giving and the receiving -- and the giving back again.
For more than 130 years, the People's Fountain presided over the historic and everyday moments of our lives: wartime victory celebrations, World Series championships, summertime concerts and brown bag lunches. Couples married. Children played. Friends met and reminisced. Others tossed a coin in the water, wishing for a turn of good luck, ice-skated beneath the festive lights or caught a cooling mist on a hot afternoon.
In our gathering today, we follow in their footsteps: Cincinnati has been good to us, and we want to return the favor. Like any community worth its salt, ours met -- and will surely face again -- myriad challenges determined to test our individual and collective resolve. Yet we have hope in this city of neighborhoods, our courage and strength articulated in what Probasco called the fountain's "voiceless eloquence." Signs of Cincinnati's resilience abound, from the renovation of Fountain and Government squares to the continuing vitality of the downtown business district and the re-emergence of the city center as a place to live, work and play.
Labels: Cincinnati, Freelance, Ohio, Writing
posted by A Chicagolander at
22:00
Links to this post
