Category: Divine Stone

A stone on stone cathedral, designed to have a 445 ft. stone tower, needs an awesome foundation. Considering the difficulties encountered as excavation began, the solution turned out to create artificial bedrock. Unlike the site of St. Luke’s Hospital across the street where solid rock lay a few feet below the surface, there were swales and striations of rock between pockets of soft shale and decomposed rock. The foundations of the Cathedral would need an engineering solution.

Irregular masses of stone, like waves interspersed with pockets of shale and clay lead to solid bedrock at depths of 20 to 45 feet below grade. They decided to concentrate excavation to the areas of the primary piers (shown in the shaded areas of the first image of this post) down to solid rock which varied between 15 and 45 ft below grade. A uniform mass of concrete filled the void.

These pits and their surrounding areas rose to elevation 100 feet above sea level, the floor level of the crypt. The setting of the granite piers would begin at that elevation. One of the pits, meant for the four large piers that would hold up the arches and subsequently the tower, reached a depth of 40 feet without hitting bedrock. Work stopped for several months contemplating a solution which included moving the Cathedral. Eventually, they excavated five more feet and bedrock showed up. Heins and Lafarge ordered core samples of 20 ft. below that level and the core showed solid rock.

The Concrete Process

The solid rock was leveled where needed and the faces roughly dressed, thoroughly cleaned with wire brushes, and washed with hoses and brooms. The rock was allowed to dry and small drippings were removed with sponges. The concrete consists of one part Portland cement, two parts sharp sand and three parts gravel (quartz gravel 1.5 to 2 in). This was mixed quite dry and was rammed by 20 lb. rammers from 10 in. layers down to 8 in. layers. When work resumed the next day the top surface received a plastered mortar of one part cement and two parts sand. The next course commenced in the same fashion. The process continued up to the desired elevation.

The magnitude of this job beginning in April 1895 was staggering with over 200 men working on it. Six steam-operated derricks and a central narrow gauge rail track centered in the area delivered the concrete bins from the two mixing locations. By August 1895 11,000 cubic yards of concrete had been laid with another 2,000 cubic yards to go.

The Cut Granite Piers Begin

Once the concrete foundations for the Cathedral reach the correct elevation, the cut granite blocks for the piers begin to arrive.

J.D. Crimmins and J.J. Hopper. were the earth and rock excavation contractors. John Peirce was the dimensional granite contractor. General William Sooy Smith of Chicago acted as the consulting engineer of the Cathedral. Sooysmith & Co., contracting engineers of New York performed the concrete work described here. Below, all the granite piers have risen to their complete height.

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• Its Foundations Rising, The New York Times, August 13, 1895
• Construction of the Foundations of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, The Engineering Record, C. 1, v. 32, August, 10, 1895
• Cathedral Builders Puzzled, The New York Times, September 10, 1893

Cathedral Senior Guide, Tom Fedorek, has embarked on a number of articles about stones of historic and special significance that have come to and are incorporated into the Cathedral. The Magna Carta Pedestal is the first of those articles. – RM

If you stand before the high altar of St. John the Divine and look slightly to the right, there is a credence table for chalices and other accessories used in the Eucharist. Supporting the table is a shaft of three roundish stones. They are Caen stone, a light-colored, fine-grained limestone quarried in northwestern France since Roman times and used to build churches in southern England, including Canterbury Cathedral. 

The three stones were cut more than eight hundred years ago. How did they come to be at the cathedral, and why?

The Magna Carta

The shaft of stones is known as the Magna Carta Pedestal. The surrounding inscription reads:

The adjoining shaft was once a part of the high altar of the Abbey of Bury St. Edmund upon which on November 20, 1214 the barons swore fealty to each other in wresting the Great Charter from King John. It is placed here as a symbol of the political traditions, laws, and liberties which is the inheritance of the English-speaking commonwealths throughout the world.

The abbey church where the barons swore their oath was one of the largest in England with a length of five hundred feet, constructed between 1080 and 1200. It housed the shrine of St. Edmund, a ninth-century king of East Anglia martyred by invading Danes. In 1539, the church and other abbey buildings were systematically destroyed during Henry VIII’s dissolution of monasteries.

The account of the English barons swearing the oath upon the altar comes from the chronicle of Roger of Wendover, a monk at the abbey. In 1214, the barons gathered there to discuss their grievances against King John under the guise of a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Edmund. Roger’s chronicle states:

They all swore on the great altar that, if the king refused to grant those liberties and laws, they themselves would withdraw their allegiance to him, and make war on him, till he should, by charter under his own seal, confirm to them everything they required; and finally it was unanimously agreed that, after Christmas, they should all go together to the king and demand the confirmation of the aforesaid liberties to them.

The barons met with the tyrannical King John at Runnymede on June 15, 1215. There the king agreed to the terms of the Great Charter (Magna Carta) that had been drafted in large part by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton. The Magna Carta and its later revisions became the foundation of English law and government. Fundamental rights granted by the charter, such as consent to taxation, protection from search and seizure, and trial by peers, were later enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights, and the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which Eleanor Roosevelt called “the international Magna Carta for all men everywhere.” 

The Marquess of Bristol

An old cathedral guidebook says of the stones: “They were given to the Cathedral in 1922, with the consent of the Abbey authorities, by the Marquis of Bristol through Dr. Raphael Constantian of New York.”

Eight men have held the title of Marquess of Bristol over the past two centuries (“Marquess” is the British spelling of “Marquis). All have been members of the Hervey family (pronounced “Harvey”). The family has deep roots in Bury St. Edmunds and the surrounding region. As long ago as the seventeenth century, Herveys were members of Parliament for Bury St. Edmunds. The region encompassing Bury and the abbey’s vast land holdings are known as the Liberty of St. Edmund. In 1806, Frederick Hervey, the 1^st Marquess of Bristol, became Hereditary High Steward of the Liberty of St. Edmund and ever since, his successors have had this ceremonial role.

The Marquess who gifted the stones to the cathedral was Frederick William Fane Hervey (1863-1951), the 4^th Marquess, also known as Lord Bristol. We see him here in the uniform of a rear admiral in the Royal Navy, where he served from 1877 to 1911.

According to a report in the Bury Free Press (July 8, 1922): 

In July 1921 Lord Bristol’s Agent selected three small stones from the High Altar site, one of which bore traces of carving which showed it to be from a Gothic structure. These were packed into a wooden box by the Agent and sent to Liverpool and they subsequently arrived in New York and have been built into the Cathedral there.

The report explains that the stones were requested by Raphael Constantian, who visited Bury St. Edmunds in 1921 for the specific purpose of acquiring altar stones to be incorporated into the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Once the stones were received in New York, Constantian responded to the Marquess:

The observance of Magna Charter Day in this country is a very significant thing. It is part of that coming to a better understanding between the Mother Country and America which is so much desired by all lovers of peace, to say nothing about all else that such a better understanding would bring in its train. We look back upon our visit to your old city with great pleasure.

Raphael Constantian

Raphael Constantian’s main connection to the cathedral appears to have been through his business, Obelisk Waterproofing Company.

Obelisk owned a technology for waterproofing stone buildings by coating the stone with paraffin wax. The technique was invented in England by Robert Caffall, who brought it to the United States.  He won renown by applying it to Cleopatra’s Needle, the ancient Egyptian obelisk in Central Park. Hence the company’s name.

Constantian was born in Armenia and trained as medical doctor in Edinburgh before emigrating to America. He became an executive at Obelisk after a chance meeting with Caffall’s son. The exact date that Obelisk began working for St. John the Divine is unclear – one source puts it in 1909 – but it was still doing so in 1925, as seen in an advertisement from that year.

His second connection to the cathedral was through William Thomas Manning and their shared concern for the welfare of Armenian Christians during the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire in the aftermath of World War I. As president of the Armenia-America Society, Constantian participated in drafting appeals to the U.S. government. Manning, then the rector of Trinity Church, was also outspoken on the issue. In 1920, they both spoke at a rally for a free Armenia held at the cathedral’s Synod House.

A third connection is Constantian’s professional relationship with Cornelius Wickersham, who steered Obelisk into some lucrative assignments. Cornelius was the son of George Woodward Wickersham, a prominent New York attorney who had served as Attorney General in the administration of William Howard Taft. The elder Wickersham was an active Episcopal layman – a vestryman of St. George’s Church, a friend and admirer of Manning, and a cathedral trustee involved with the fund-raising campaign for the nave. His grandson, George W. Wickersham II, would later be installed as a canon of the cathedral.

It is unclear if the idea for a Magna Carta Pedestal originated with Constantian, but he was clearly the principal actor in making the idea a reality. He is presumed to have provided the funding, as well, perhaps in gratitude for Manning’s advocacy for the cause of a free Armenia, or as a good will gesture towards a longtime customer of his company.

Magna Carta Day

During Manning’s episcopate, the cathedral conducted a special service annually on Magna Carta Day, June 15, or the Sunday following. He was an Englishman by birth, a native of Northampton. The commemoration of the document that was the foundation for so many of the liberties enjoyed by both Britons and Americans had a deep meaning for him.

When the Magna Carta Pedestal was dedicated on Sunday, June 18, 1922, George Wickersham spoke at the service of the document’s continuing relevance:

The greater freedom from oppression which the English-speaking peoples of the world have enjoyed over all other peoples has been because from the thirteenth century to the present time they have held fast to the guiding principles embodied in the charter of John. Today they are expressed in the written Constitution of the American Commonwealth as limitations imposed by the people upon their government … 

So let us be thankful for the vision of liberty which the men of 1215 possessed and rejoice in the stable institutions of our day by means of which the aspirations of Runnymede have become the accepted liberties of the free English-speaking commonwealths of the twentieth century.

The phrase “English-speaking commonwealths” also appears in the pedestal’s inscription, suggesting that Wickersham participated in drafting it.

The 1941 observance of Magna Carta Day must have been fraught with emotion for the bishop. Only a few weeks earlier, the Luftwaffe had paused the Blitz, the eight-month campaign of incessant nighttime bombing of English cities that had left more than 40,000 civilians dead and more than two million homes destroyed or damaged. More than 3,000 British aviators had died defending their country. St. Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and the Houses of Parliament had been bombed. Coventry Cathedral had been destroyed.

After leading a solemn procession to the Magna Carta Pedestal, the bishop read from the inscription: “It is placed here as a symbol of the community of political tradition, laws, and liberties, which is the inheritance of the English-speaking commonwealths throughout the world.” 

Placing his hand on the shaft, he continued: “In the presence of God and by this time-honored stone we swear anew our loyalty to the free gospel of Christ. With God’s assistance we will safeguard our liberties and transmit them unsullied to the generations yet unborn.”

My sincere thanks to John Saunders, Adrian Tindall, and Patricia Mackie of the Bury Past & Present Society for tracking down the information about the acquisition of the stones. 

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Sources: Giles, J.A. (translator). Roger of Wendover’s Flowers of History (London: H.G. Bohn, 1892) ● Hall, Edward H. A Guide to the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine, 15^th ed., 1950 ● Jones, Dan. Magna Carta: The Birth of Liberty (New York: Viking, 2014) ● Wright, Milton. “Staying the hand of time,” Scientific American, August, 1931 ● “Manning would re-open war to free Armenia,” New York Times, March 1, 1920 ● “Cathedral service for Magna Carta,” New York Times, June 19, 1922 ● “Magna Carta Day held at St. John’s,” New York Times, June 16, 1941 ● “The Marquess of Bristol” (obituary), Times of London, October 25, 1951 ● Bury Free Press, July 8, 1922.

For over a decade, I documented the crew at the Stoneyard at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine. I always stayed behind the camera, capturing the work done by the skilled apprentices, artisans and laborers who created extraordinary works in stone and started to build a tower.

As I began digitizing my slides and negatives 12 years ago, I realized I had scant few images of myself to show – a self-portrait, the back of my head while I was photographing on the tower and a single photo of me photographing a stone carver and his work.

Recently, while also editing and digitizing a few boxes of slides and prints from the Cathedral archives, I came across a treasure trove of images capturing me working on the tower and photographing daily events during the building phase of the 1980s and early 1990s. I found these images in folders organized by Barbara C. Timken, an architectural historian, who was the Stoneyard Institute coordinator and Director of Educational Programs from 1986 – 1988.

Perhaps this is a good time to reflect on my time documenting such a magical era at the Cathedral.

The Beginning

I first read about the Stoneyard Institute from a Daily News article, and I was attracted to the idea of the medieval traditions of stonecutting coming to life in the City. In the pre-email days, I wrote to Dean James Parks Morton who invited me to come by for a meeting. Sitting in his huge cluttered office, its every surface covered with artwork and papers, I was in awe. I explained that I wanted to make a record of this project and he essentially told me “it’s yours.”

It’s Yours

– James Parks Morton

At the time, I worked full time as a photographer for Gannett Newspapers,  but a crazy schedule of days, nights and weekends allowed me to stop by the Stoneyard for an hour or two before going in for a night shift, or spend most of the weekday if I was working the weekend. It also helped that I lived on Cathedral Parkway, so I was only a few blocks away from the Stoneyard.

My responsibility on this project, as I saw it, was to record the work in the most objective way. Stay behind the camera and let the work unfold. In a very short time Jose Tapía, James Jamerson, Arlene “Poni” Baptiste and Tim Smith, among others, would totally forget I was there and I could capture true candid moments while they worked.  I also learned more about them since I started coming by regularly with many friendships developing, and many remaining to this day. I remember lunch at Tom’s Restaurant with Cynie Linton, Halloween parties at The Deanery, summer barbeques featuring Sylvia’s fried chicken and crying at Ruben Gibson’s funeral.

Dedication of the South Tower

Most of the time, I could visit the Stoneyard, shoot a few rolls of film and move on. However, other times I had to come up with a plan to photograph a special event.

The first major occasion was the tower dedication on Sept. 29, 1982, when the cornerstone of St. Paul’s tower was set and blessed by Bishop Paul Moore. I had to assess the logistics of photographing from one of two vantage points – Amsterdam House that faced the Cathedral or from the Cathedral tower. Where would I get the best shots of Philippe Petit walking across Amsterdam Avenue on a high wire since I couldn’t be in two places at once…or could I?

I checked the roof of Amsterdam House and saw that Philippe’s wire was set and there would be a dramatic view of him walking with the Cathedral in the background. I also realized the more important images – the actual blessing of the cornerstone and capturing the expressions on Philippe’s face — could only be done from the tower side. Time was tight so I left a camera on a tripod with an external shutter on the roof of Amsterdam House and asked a photographer next to me if she would hit the button a few times when Philippe started his walk. A chance I had to take, I felt, as I raced across the street and to the top of the St. Paul’s tower before the ceremony began. 

Clearly, I was at the right spot to capture a jubilant Philippe kneeling on the wire and raising his hand in a dramatic moment. From there I could easily turn around and record the setting and blessing of the first stone on the narrow space in front of the cornerstone. At one point, while Philippe was crossing Amsterdam Avenue, I must have blocked a photo Master Mason Stephen Boyle was trying to take. Instead of a nice pic of Philippe walking across on the wire, Stephen wound up with a photo of the back of my head with Philippe seemingly off in the distance. Stephen kindly gave me his photo as a souvenir, which I have added to my digital archive.

After the ceremony, I returned to Amsterdam House to retrieve my camera. Once the slide film was processed, I saw that the photographer had indeed pushed the shutter a few times and I had a spectacular image of Philippe walking toward the Cathedral, suspended over 100 feet above Amsterdam Avenue. I was equally surprised (and delighted) to get a call the next day from Newsweek magazine which published my photo. I also had a front-page photo and a few others in the Gannett newspaper, The Journal News.

The Bell Tower

Another scheduled event that required careful planning was the bell frame installation, which occurred over the weekend of September 3-4, 1988. I had scoped out a few nearby buildings where I could access the roofs to get different angles as the steel I-beams were hoisted from a street level crane to the top of the tower. I spent the better part of the weekend on the street, up on the tower and on nearby rooftops to record the moment. 

Once again, Stephen Boyle was on the tower that weekend with his camera and he managed to grab a photo of me walking around the limestone blocks as the steelworkers bolted the I-beams into place. Another photo for my collection.

My battered Domke bag was crammed with the usual array of Nikon equipment but on occasion, I had to add some special tools to get the job done – ultra wide-angle lenses and cameras and perceptive control (PC) lenses. 

Light and Shadow

I loved working with light and shadows to capture progress photos of the Cathedral façade as the tower began to rise. To keep the lines straight and undistorted I used a PC lens that enabled me to shift the axis of the lens to keep architectural lines straight and not tilting at awkward angles. The result was beautiful images as the setting sun cast moody shadows on the West front with the tower rising into a deep blue sky. 

Photographing on the tower was a challenge mainly because there was so little room to back up, and I certainly did not want to take one step too many off the wooden planks surrounding the stonework. I sometimes needed the help of ultra-wide and full-frame fisheye lenses to get sufficient distance between the subjects – the stone setters — and me as they were setting the stones. This was especially true while I photographed the tower crew working on the string course. I literally had to crouch low on a wooden plank off the side of the tower to show the bizarre yet beautiful faces and elaborately carved foliage as the masons set the stones into place. 

As I mentioned, until recently I had one photo of me photographing at the Stoneyard. It was a small Kodak print and I could not recall who gave it to me. While scanning a folder from Barbara C. Timken marked “People,” I found the original slide and a few others. Her image shows me photographing D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon’s St. Phoebe apex gablet finial, with Jeep also photographing his stone from a different angle.

Barbara also recorded images tracing the carving as it was delivered to the tower and then set into place. Along the way, Barbara turned her camera in my direction a few times, so now I had some new photographs of my working on the tower. 

Barbara was on the scene with her camera another time, when I was setting up a group photo of the Stoneyard crew and the summer architectural program on the tower. I had to climb over the scaffolding and out onto the edge of the planks, to get the angle I needed. That memory came back in a jolt when I found another of Barbara’s many folders with images she had captured that day. Not only did she have photos of me holding onto the scaffold with one hand as I directed people to get closer, but the photo also showed the very short shorts I was wearing that day.

Work on the Tower Slowed

Gradually, things changed. Work slowed down on the tower as funding dried up and Dean Morton tried to keep things afloat with Cathedral Stoneworks. In addition, for me, a new job (Monday through Friday) and the birth of my son Evan left little time to photograph at the Stoneyard.

Within a few years, all work had stopped and the rusting hulk of the scaffold enveloped the stump of a tower. Many years later, the scaffold and upright bell frame beams came down — a clear indication there would be no more work on the tower in my lifetime. My dream of photographing the last pinnacle set in place would never happen.

My body of work – several hundred rolls of films and slides (in the pre-digital age) – languished on a bookshelf until I found myself out of work in 2013. The down time gave me the opportunity to put my collection in order and complete the job I had started decades earlier by putting everything in digital form. As a photojournalist, I knew the job was more than gathering a series of photographs together – I had to tell a complete story with each image. Clear captions with accurate details were my mantra, and I give special thanks to Stephen Boyle for his never-ending patience as I bombarded him with questions on technical terms, types of stone and crewmembers’ names. With his help, my collection comes close to 2,000 images.

Things are coming full circle since I took my first photos at the Stoneyard 45 years ago. With my images, I have contributed numerous stories to Divine Stone and I have done a number of presentations on the magnificent carvings on the tower. (I even hope to turn that project into a children’s version.) Perhaps a book in the future?

Recalling my first meeting with Dean Morton, when I explained I wanted to make a record of this project, I see that I am still working on this task. Only now, I am pushing it forward for future generations.  

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With a steady hand and thoughtful demeanor, Stephen Boyle led a team of apprentices to construct one of the most celebrated structures in New York City, the Tower of St. Paul at the Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. 
Known to most as a kind-hearted lad, Steve was responsible for constructing 57 feet of the tower all while weathering construction challenges, cathedral politics and financial dust-ups that only a place like Manhattan can produce.   

 A native of north England, Steve began his career in 1975 as a general laborer in concrete work, scaffold construction and later as a bricklayers’ laborer. His interest soon gravitated towards stone masonry. Surrounded by centuries of noble stone structures, this early impulse of Steve seemed a worthy pursuit. In fact, one of the most notable landmarks is that of York Minster Cathedral and where Steve’s stone masonry career began. This church dates from the mid-thirteenth to the late-fifteenth century, with sections going back to the seventh century. 

During the 1970’s, a standard apprenticeship lasted four years beginning at the ages of fifteen to sixteen years old. Steve arrived at age twenty, so his time was reduced to three years with a condition he not pursue stone carving. At that time, the waiting list for stone carver candidates was too long. This request suited Steve as he was already impressed with the complexities, and challenges of the stone masonry trade that he had experienced thus far. 

As a cathedral apprentice, Steve’s studies included geometry, architectural theory, as well as construction practices. Steve’s first post was to train as a banker mason. Apprentices at York Minster started “on the banker” to make them aware of the time and care involved in completing a masonry piece. This starting point also encouraged an apprentice to carefully handle a finished stone prior to and during the fixing process. 

Banker work, which included learning to square up a rough block before gradually advancing to more complex geometric forms, was considered a core element of the masonry trade. Steve had the good fortune to train under master stonemason Paul Tumman and a host of other seasoned craftsmen. 

While working at the Minster, Steve contributed stones to significant parts of the building, including the Chapter House buttresses, copings, flying buttress, multiple moulded window jambs and mullions, as well as restoration work on the Minster’s South Transept. His first masonry piece was a stone window mullion which was placed fourteen feet above the ground.

Throughout his apprenticeship, Steve attended technical college once a week and inevitably was awarded a City & Guilds Certificate in Masonry. Though the work at Minster was rewarding, at the end of his apprenticeship Steve began to feel the pull to ply his trade in a broader field.  With hopes to expand his knowledge, Steve set off to become a true journeyman. This decision presented opportunities to engage in projects throughout the UK. Salisbury Cathedral became his first job as a journeyman where he restored windows in the library. He was also fortunate to participate in the restoration of many churches within the Cathedral’s diocese. After Salisbury, Steve expanded into work for commercial buildings and in the cities of Leeds and Newcastle. From there he traveled to Glasgow, Scotland and was part of a construction crew for the Burrel Museum. Even with these professional experiences, Steve’s masonry career was actually just on the cusp.

Far Across the Atlantic

Meanwhile, in New York City, a celebration was brewing as the stonemasons of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine had crafted enough stones to resume construction of the Southwest Tower, thus ending a forty-year pause in the building of the cathedral.
This was no small piece of news in the stone industry. While reading an article, Steve began to muse about building a cathedral in America. As new construction this offered a very different set of possibilities and challenges than the preservation work of Britain. Steve learned that the construction of the tower would be directed by James Bambridge, a Master Builder well known for British post-war building restoration and reconstruction. It seemed a long shot, but Steve decided to contact Mr. Bambridge about the project. To his astonishment, Bambridge made a quick reply.  And after “a rather intense interview” the position was awarded. Soon Steve was packing his bags to oversee the construction of the Southwest Tower at St. John the Divine in New York City. He was twenty-five years old.

FROM THE NORTH OF ENGLAND TO THE UPPER WEST SIDE OF MANHATTAN

Upon Steve’s arrival in NY, he was tasked with a formidable to-do list. He had expected to be working initially with Bambridge to set the building lines and then install the first course of the tower. In reality, scaffold erection was still in progress and was not up to the minimum height that would allow safe access. Meaning the “setting out” of the building lines was now on hold and the critical path was to prepare operations at ground level and for an upcoming promotional event. 

“The Jerusalem Stone” was a gift to the Cathedral, and the setting of this important cornerstone had already been publicized with a date set. Steve also learned that the courses underneath the cornerstone were not in place. So… with only a few days before the cornerstone ceremony, and with scaffolding not high enough to access this area there was a mad scramble to rig a temporary lifting system. An erection of beams and chain falls at topside became Steve’s primary focus. This meant that the important task of setting the tower’s geometry, meaning the reference lines used for all walls and corners, must wait until after the ceremony.  

And as there was no money for a crane, all finished stones and other materials required for the event were conveyed to the topside by a rack & pinion personnel lift. This is a very labor-intensive process. What’s more, the stones meant to be installed under the “Jerusalem stone” were buried within the mountain of stacks on the north side of the Cathedral. Steve would need to reorganize these stones and bring them to the staging area on the south side. To achieve this, a small temporary but level road had to be built connecting the uneven landscape to the southwest corner and staging area. This was a critical step towards transporting stone and other materials to the lift. Again, due to budget constraints there was a lack of basic moving equipment, therefore all stones were moved manually and on “horses”, which were short planks and rollers. This was very much a ground-up operation for Boyle, and Steve managed to keep things in order, and the event went off without a hitch.   

Steve’s duties were not limited to work on the tower. He was also asked to team up with Alan Bird to develop the overall training program. Steve was the construction foreman, but other duties included banker masonry and instruction, estimating, off-loading quarry blocks, slab splitting, and template making. 

The tower crew was hired on a seasonal basis and often without skills. With the exception of a small core group of masons, Steve was tasked with training a perpetual stream of new recruits every spring and summer. There was also a period when Alan Bird, Clerk of the Works, left the cathedral to pursue his own life as a mason in rural New York where he resided. This meant that the day-to-day responsibilities of running the entire operation fell on Steve Boyle.

Eventually, the extensive stockpile of stones made the 200 ft. climb to the top, and the tower slowly began to rise. Topside, the team relied on chain hoists and I-beam trolleys. This system didn’t always allow the stones to be positioned directly over the exact landing spots, and most were too heavy to man-handle. Therefore, a lot of acrobatic scaffold rigging was involved.

 Steve’s crew consisted of two masons and a helper setting stones, along with two brick and block masons infilling the wall cavity and packing joggles. Joggles were “v-shaped” grooves cut vertically between the stones to help bond them together by packing with mortar. Three masons’ tenders were required to keep the stones, bricks, and mortar delivered posthaste, as well as two banker masons fine-tuning the finished stonework. As momentum picked up, Steve formed another crew headed up by Tim Smith. 

There was a fair amount of basic ashlar work to fix but ornate gablets, large cornice stones, and delicately carved tracery always presented a challenge. With some 12,000 stones in total and considering the overall height of the tower, the perimeters for the depth of material were substantial. The tower would also house heavy vibrating bells. Hence, the need for stout walls.

As the stone cutters and carvers tailored the stones from quarry blocks, there were times when it seemed the vast stockpile might become a permanent reminder of a grand dream unfulfilled. Fortunately, with the exception of a few hundred stones that have remained grounded, Steve Boyle met his calling with humility and reassuring competence. His contribution cannot be overstated. 

  Saint Paul’s Tower and the Cathedral’s building program have enjoyed many notable years of success and praise. Steve’s unwavering efforts supported the aspirations of many by linking the Stoneyard Institute to those who had previously toiled, thus making The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine an enduring place of hope. Thanks must surely go to Stephen Boyle for his leadership, integrity, generosity and the opportunity to witness the rise of this structure. It’s a remarkable legacy.

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Five years ago, we published the first blog post. For the first year and a half I maintained a schedule of a post every week, like a weekly newspaper column. My deadline occurred every Thursday. My goal was to use frequency to build awareness of the Divine Stone project and to reach the core group of stoneyard participants with the message that their wonderful story was important and was being told.

Apologies for those first posts being a little on the thin side. I wasn’t as much a researcher as a grabber of low-hanging fruit. As time went on, the research deepened and was enhanced by Robert F. Rodriguez’ images and writings. The free subscriber lists have grown beyond those immediately involved in the stoneyard. We thank them. It is a story that reaches a larger audience.

Last year we indicated it was time to begin a new phase in the work and that it was time to start weaving these snapshots of stories into a cohesive draft manuscript. That has begun. You may recall we plan three parts to the story, the major construction periods.

• Part One – The Dean Morton Era (1972-1997)
• Part Two – Bishop Potter and Heins & LaFarge (1892-1911)
• Part. Three – Bishop Manning and Ralph Adams Cram (1921-1941)

Part Two is written in draft form. I started there because it was the smallest section and I could see how to bring blog posts into a narrative form and the challenges that it might pose. The writing for Part One is now underway.

Going Forward

Blog posts will continue, although less frequent due to manuscript writing tasks. We will be reaching out to the cutters, carvers and setters from the modern stoneyard to develop more information about them and that era. For those men and women, please help us tell the best story.

Last fall I had an opportunity to meet Tom Fedorek, Senior Guide and our book’s co-author Robert F. Rodriguez at the Cathedral for a short but meaningful walk-around. Robert and I adjourned to meet about the book and look at his well-documented collection of photos. In addition to his own work, Robert secured Mary Bloom’s Cathedral images from her estate and secured Martha Cooper’s cooperation to use her images. Martha spent 3 years documenting the work on the Portal of Paradise. Stephanie Azzarone, journalist, author and editor, joined us at the meeting and has graciously agreed to work with us.

This year, through Mark Saxe, various publications and websites have reprinted blog posts and links to the blog, spreading the story. Mark recently brought this quote to our attention. It will stay with us.

” There is no one not better off having spent time in the presence of stone” –

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