Category: Divine Stone

One of the largest and most important stone contractors in the country, John Peirce became known as the “Granite King”. The firm supplied the material and constructed the foundation piers and superstructure of this phase of the Cathedral. 

Born in Frankfort, Maine, Peirce had studied law at Harvard but chose to return to Maine in 1873 to take over his father’s granite business at Mount Waldo. His father had several important granite quarries as well as a general contracting and building business.  He took to the industry quickly and began to grow the enterprise. Through investment, directorships and ownership he acquired additional granite properties to the extent that he largely controlled the output of the stone in the state.  He gained interests in the Hallowell Granite Works and the Boswell Granite Company. Among these was the Boswell Granite Fox Island Company. Included were Vinalhaven’s vast granite resources. By the 1900’s there were over 46 small quarries on Vinalhaven. The Vinalhaven Warff Quarry was the source of the monumental columns at the Cathedral.

From Maine to New York

Peirce moved to New York City in the late 1880’s to oversee the operation of his New York and Maine Granite Paving Block Company.  One of the company’s contracts paved Fifth Avenue from 8th Street to 90th Street with granite blocks.

He also realized that New York was the building center of the country and granite had become the symbol of strength and solidity. By the 1890’s he began to furnish building materials and erect many buildings in the city. Grand Central Terminal, the 42nd street New York Public Library and New York City’s first subway system among them. Peirce’s firm soon grew to be one of the largest granite contractors in the country.

By 1915 concrete, steel and asphalt replaced much of the demand for stone building products. Sleek modernity, rising costs of construction, modern paving methods and the decline of the stone carvers art were killing the granite industry. The advent of railroads especially the vastly superior networks in the midwest and the development of the limestone industry added to the decline. The “Granite King’s ” John Peirce Company ceased to exist.

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• New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission
• Prominent and Progressive Americans; an encyclopedia of contemporaneous biography, Harrison, Michael Charles, 1902, Vol. 2
• New York Public Library Digital Collections

(This is an encore post following Robert F. Rodriguez’ article on the Kincannon brothers. – The original post appeared December 22, 2021 and was written by Joseph Kincannon.-RM)

Jeep, or rather D’Ellis Kincannon, started his apprenticeship in the stoneyard in 1980 after working in the Cathedral mail room for a year. He came to NYC to go to art school, but found it wasn’t for him. When the stone yard program started up it seemed a perfect fit, and it was.

He excelled as a banker mason. I think it’s fair to say that he and Jose (Tapia) were the top stone cutters. The Cathedral showcased their work for fundraising purposes. They were featured in multiple magazines and news publications.

The Banker Mason

Jeep was also one of the first few to apprentice under Chris Hannaway. He had the highest regard for Chris and was disappointed to see him return to England. He often made reference to Chris’ mastery in banker masonry and anything stone related. Jeep’s prize possession was an old mallet that Chris had given him from his early days in Liverpool.

Master Builder James Bambridge was impressed enough with D’Ellis’ work to once state that “his masonry is as perfect as if it had been poured into a mold.” It was obvious that this discipline was one that Jeep immediately embraced. He also had a gift for drafting and setting out. He was a natural at perceiving 3-dimensional intersections.

To advance Jeep’s skills even further, the Cathedral sent him to the Bath School for Architectural Trades in England. This was very rewarding for Jeep as he completely immersed himself in the trade. Aside from the school, he was taken aback at finding himself in a city that the Romans had built in part. He was also astounded that one of the local pubs had been in operation since the “Black Death.” This place became a regular haunt for Jeep and many of the other students.

After a year, Jeep returned to NYC and continued working as a banker mason. By this time, Alan Bird had replaced Chris Hannaway and the yard was humming along. Later Jeep advanced into the setting-out shop with fellow apprentice, Cynie Linton. He had real misgivings about leaving banker masonry. I remember him grumbling despite the promotion.

The Setting-Out Shop

Jeep and Cynie worked directly with James Bambridge transferring the original architect’s drawings into full-scale tower drawings that would later be numbered and patterned into various zinc templates for the banker masons’ shop. The masons used to laugh when he would step in to help an apprentice understand the complex templates. “Uh oh, Jeep’s got that look on his face!” This is not a look you wanted to see, as it usually meant an irretrievable mistake had been made in the stone work. If you had trouble understanding the templates he and Cynie were the ones to see.

As things slowed down in the setting-out shop, a new opportunity arose; a competition for the new carving apprenticeship under the tutelage of Nick Fairplay. Jeep scored in the top five. He served his three years and was later appointed as head carver. During this period, he contributed many celebrated carvings to the tower. Jeep continued on in that position for a year until he was positioned as the head of the drafting and setting-out department.

As Chief Draftsman, Jeep also worked on the tower with Master Mason Steve Boyle, for whom he had the greatest respect. Boyle was not one to embrace the limelight and Jeep often commented on how he was the unsung hero who quietly puzzled together the massive stones on the tower, a truly monumental task.

Working on the Tower

Steve relayed a story about how instrumental Jeep was in the setting of the first course of stonework:

“It should be mentioned that Jeep deserves credit for the tower actually fitting on the building. Delays in scaffold erection meant that the first stones that we laid were rather hurriedly positioned. The deadline for the installation of the Jerusalem Stone rapidly approached. The setting of this historic cornerstone included a well-publicized ceremony featuring high wire aerialist, Philippe Petit delivering a silver trowel to the Bishop of New York for the official blessing. Since the scaffolding was only partially in place, it hadn’t been possible to lay out all of the building lines as planned before Bambridge had to return to the UK.

This was alarming to me at the time as it meant this task might fall to me. Sure enough, as we began to set more stone it was clear that the first stones had been set too far over to the North resulting in the new stone overhanging by about a half inch. I called Bambridge in the U.K. and he told me I would have to do the setting out. He understood my uneasiness, but told me I could always rely on Jeep for help with this and he was right. Jeep had a thorough understanding of the whole project by this time and knew exactly what to do. Great thanks to him; everything ended up where it was supposed to be.”

-Master Mason Stephen Boyle

Cathedral Stoneworks

In 1989, he stepped away from drafting to join the carving team working on the West Front. Work on the Central Portal statuary had recently resumed under the direction of Simon Verity. For Jeep, the carving ended too soon. The Jewish Museum awarded a major contract to the stoneyard. It was an early 20th Century Gothic Revival building on 5th Avenue. The drafting department was about to become a very busy place.

This was the beginning of a new era. A commercial venture was underway with the goal of replenishing the depleted Cathedral coffers by taking on independent projects. It was a good effort, but the partnership with Cathedral Stoneworks ultimately marked the end of the tower project and any dream of completing the Cathedral. Jeep continued working as Chief Draftsman until he left in 1993.

He Wore Many Hats

He was one of the few who wore most of the hats available in the Cathedral stone yard. Those hats included sawyer, estimator, banker mason, setting-out, stone carver and fixer mason (on the tower). He would laugh and say that the only job he didn’t do was to run the planer. That position belonged to Nelson Otero, and to only Nelson Otero.

D’Ellis often expressed his admiration for other modest people who produced great stone work for the tower. He often referred to Yves Pierre and Angel Escobar. He once said that “The very first time Angel picked up a chisel, he knew what to do with it. And, it was a little unnerving.” These guys were natural stone cutters, but not inclined to talk in front of the T.V. cameras.

Beyond the Cathedral, he would spend the next eight years teaching, designing, cutting and carving stone on large public and private projects with Kincannon Studios in Texas until his death in 2001. I can say that throughout this period, as busy as we were, he was ready to drop everything and return to NYC if the team reunited to finish the tower. There’s no doubt about that.

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• The author of this post, Joseph Kincannon, is the younger brother of D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon. Joseph is a teacher and architectural sculptor. Professor Kincannon is currently the Chair of Stone Carving at the American College of Building Arts.

from competition to commiseration…

When D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon and his younger brother Joseph worked together as banker masons at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine, there was a quiet but definite fraternal competition. Joseph, five years younger, explains, “Jeep and I were more competitive. I suppose that’s because the end product was clearly defined through shop drawings and job tickets, no guess work. Although extremely complex, masonry work was straight up geometry, allowing the stone cutter to have a more clear-eyed focus on speed and production, leading to a more competitive drive.”

When both brothers were invited to work in the carving shed, however, Joseph says it was like “jumping into the abyss.” And the nature of the brothers’ competition changed.

He recalls,“even with drawings and/or models, there were surprises around every corner — a lot more uncertainty. And to add more pressure, the carvings had to be woven into finely finished stones that a banker mason had already labored over. Neither Jeep nor I felt confident enough to gloat. We were more likely compelled to commiserate. Nick (Fairplay) was very democratic, and articulate in his damning critiques.”

In temperament, the brothers were opposite sides of the coin. Jeep was more quiet and reserved, while Joseph was more outgoing.

Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay said they were like “chalk and cheese.” Nicholas was referring to their approach to carving and differing styles, but their individual personalities were probably factored into his assessment.

According to Nicholas, Jeep was “detail oriented but he found it very difficult to be bold and get out of the box.” By contrast, “Joseph was bold immediately and very fluid, very creative on his pieces.”  

When the brothers began designing and carving label stops for the lower levels of the south tower, they chose topics of interest to them. For instance, Jeep may have been inspired by mythology and forest creatures.

His delicately carved piece of a grotesque with swept back horns, long drooping ears, flowing beard and mustache looks like a young Pan or satyr. In ancient Greek religion Pan is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, and companion of the nymphs. Pan is usually represented as having the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr. Jeep’s work resides on the West façade of St. Paul’s tower, facing Amsterdam Avenue.

For his next label stop carving Jeep worked on a whimsical little forest creature. This happy looking elf featured tight ringlets of hair, long pointed ears and flexing muscular arms. Jeep achieved depth with his exacting carving technique.

Jeep then dove into a common theme adopted by many Gothic stone carvers – a Green Man. In Celtic mythology, the Green Man represents the lord of the forest and the patron of animals and fertility. He is mainly a symbol of untamed nature. Branches or vines may sprout from the mouth, nostrils, or other parts of the face, and these shoots may bear flowers or fruit. Green Man, also known as a foliate head, first appeared in England during the early 12th century deriving from those of France. 

Jeep’s interpretation featured an exquisitely carved face emerging from thick and sinuously veined foliage on both sides of a creature’s head, with more foliage sprouting from his mouth.

Joseph’s carving style differed from his older brother’s as seen in the variety of his carvings, ranging from humorous creations to odd looking creatures. Two conveyed hidden messages.

If Jeep could make a Green Man, then Joseph chose a carving that could be called a Green Cat. A round-faced feline with tongue sticking out seems to emerge from a border of foliage and acorns. Joseph recalls “it was one of my earliest carvings. Damned thing put me through hell.”

While Joseph’s Green Cat can be seen on the tower’s west façade, his remaining three label stops are all set on the South elevation. 

The first carving with a hidden message can be seen in Joseph’s imp with his fingers in his ears.  He said “the stoneyard was struggling at the time. If memory serves there were a lot of layoffs, a management shakeup, accompanied by many painful meetings.”  Joseph kept his head down and kept on working – he didn’t want to hear it. But there was also another reason for the gesture, he explains, “The carving is pointed in the direction of my mother’s apartment building (on Broadway and W. 111 Street) and she can be a little long-winded. The gift-of-the-gab runs in the family, so this was an inside joke. Hence, the inspiration for this ugly little head is two-fold.”

A funny carving with deep set round eyes, wearing a brimless hat and using both hands to pull his mouth wide apart, elicited a comment from James Parks Morton, then Dean of the Cathedral. In a 2015 video interview the Dean remarked on the stone carving, “One of the things they recaptured was carving with a sense of humor,” he said, as he did his imitation of the funny looking carving. “It’s a scream,” he added.

Joseph had another secret hidden in a carving of a ragged-toothed grotesque with flaring nostrils and pointed ears. Joseph clearly had in mind that this secret could only be seen by someone on the ground looking up at this label stop on the east elevation. Recently, viewed through a camera with a super telephoto lens, a wonderfully carved detail of a face peacefully peering out from deep inside the creature’s wide open rounded mouth was visible. This carving is a masterpiece of skill and execution.

Together, Jeep and Joseph carved seven of the 14 label stops for the buttress gablets, among the earliest individually designed works to come out of the carving shed.

Both brothers worked for the Cathedral Institute and later the Cathedral Stoneworks for over 10 years. When construction stopped in the early 1990s Joseph and his wife Holly started Kincannon Studios in Austin, TX. Jeep joined them later and stayed with the stoneworking studio until he passed away in 2001.

Commenting on the Kincannon brothers, Master Mason Stephen Boyle also observed that, while their personalities may have been far different from each other,

both shared the same serious commitment to producing the highest standard of work no matter what area they were working in…both intensely focused and perfectionists.

– Master Mason Stephen Boyle

When is a grotesque a gargoyle?

Many people mistakenly believe that every carving on a Gothic church is a gargoyle.

The word is derived from the Old French gargouille, meaning “throat.” According to Wikipedia, in Gothic architecture, a gargoyle is a carved or formed grotesque with a spout designed to convey water from a roof and away from the side of a building, thereby preventing it from running down masonry walls and eroding the mortar between. Gargoyles are usually elongated fantastical animals because their length determines how far water is directed from the wall. When Gothic flying buttresses were used, aqueducts were sometimes cut into the buttress to divert water over the aisle walls. 

A grotesque is a fantastic or mythical figure carved from stone and fixed to the walls or roof of a building and does not project far from the wall.

Grotesques often depict whimsical, mythical creatures in dramatic or humorous ways. Although grotesques typically depict a wide range of subjects, they are often hybrids of different mythical, human, and animalistic features.

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• This is the third in a series of articles about the carvings on the Southwest Tower by Robert F. Rodriguez, an artist/photographer-in-residence at the Cathedral as these artworks were being created. All the images in this article were taken by the author. He spent more than 10 years documenting all facets of the construction work. His working life includes photo editor at Gannett Newspapers for 38 years and The Daily Mail for ten.

One step closer to realizing a sister’s wish.

It took four of us to haul a 30-lb. marble tablet up the narrow, circular, stone staircase to St. Paul’s tower at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine.

Stephen Boyle, former master mason, and I handled the first leg, carefully lifting the marble memorial plaque dedicated to James R. Bambridge, the Stoneyard Institute’s Master Builder, up the seemingly endless staircase. 

On hand to lend some muscle were Jim Patterson, Facilities Director at the Cathedral, and David Goughnour, Assistant Facilities Director. Besides the narrow and sometimes dimly lit staircase, we had to maneuver along a narrow catwalk bordering the undulating vaulted ceiling and then up one final, very narrow, corkscrew staircase to the base of the tower.

The idea of delivering the tablet to the tower, which took about a half hour, started almost 10 years ago with a handwritten Air Mail letter from Bambridge’s sister, Doreen Clark, who lives in Yorkshire, England. She was asking for a memorial in honor of her brother, who passed away in 2012. That request came to Timothy Smith, one of the original five stone cutters hired by Bambridge and Dean James Parks Morton in 1979.

JAMES BAMBRIDGE

Bambridge had an extensive resume as a Cathedral builder, one of the few people in the world qualified to take on the job of constructing the towers at St. John the Divine

He worked on many buildings damaged by bombs during World War II, including the Houses of Parliament. Bambridge also worked in Canada as Master Mason for restoration work at the Anglican Cathedral in St. Johns, Newfoundland. In 1967 he moved to Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral. Later, Bambridge was appointed Master Mason at Wells Cathedral and, in 1979, was asked to help complete St. John the Divine.

Bambridge had to build the stoneyard operation entirely from scratch – there were no architectural blueprints, no stones, no stonecutting equipment and no stone cutters.

Within a few years Bambridge created a dynamic workplace with a crew as large as 30 people employed in various capacities, including cutting stones, creating the schematics, carving the elaborate figures and finally building the tower. His legacy, according to a magazine interview, was “that I can teach another generation of stone cutters.” 

After seven years at the Cathedral, in late 1985 or early 1986, Bambridge returned to England and consulted on the restoration of the historic Grand Buildings in Trafalgar Square, London. With that project finished, Bambridge retired to his small holding in Dorset, England and passed away in 2012.

The Tablet’s Request

Sometime in 2015 or 2016, Timothy Smith received Doreen Clark’s special request.

Timothy said it took only several months to complete the memorial tablet. He consulted with Doreen on his final design.

Then the tablet languished on his porch for several years until he and I had a chance conversation. He told me that the Bambridge tablet and a second tablet in honor of his stoneyard colleagues were ready to be installed at the Cathedral if he had a way to get them there – a two-plus hour drive from Manhattan.

My wife Stephanie and I had upcoming plans to be in the Berkshires, not far from where Timothy lived. I told him I would pick up the tablets and hold them until we could make arrangements to install them at an appropriate place in the Cathedral. The only hitch was that Timothy and his wife Laurie would be away when we were in the area. He explained that the tablets were on his porch and I could come anytime. 

I requested that he alert the Sheriff’s office so I would not be arrested for theft and trespassing.

In 2023, I carefully packed up the tablets without incident and without having to be bailed out of the local jail.

The Final Location

It took a while to make arrangements for their installation, with Dean Patrick Malloy lending assistance. After our morning’s exertions hauling the Bambridge memorial tablet up to the tower in June 2024, there was still work to be done.

The interior of the tower that started to rise in 1982 is a dark chamber lined primarily with brick and with several louvre doors for ventilation and to allow in some light. It rises over 30 feet to where heavy steel beams, which were to support a 13-bell carillon, form the base of the ceiling. 

In the dim light Stephen Boyle and Jim Patterson checked a few areas on the walls for a suitable location to permanently place the plaque. They will devise a mounting system to keep the marble tablet secure and I will look into having a photo of Bambridge displayed in a weatherproof frame to accompany the tablet.

Once the tablet is secured, Stephen and I hope to have a formal dedication and blessing of the tablet by Cathedral clergy sometime in the fall.

A sister’s request will then be fully honored.

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• All images in this article were taken by the author, photojournalist and Cathedral Artist-in-Residence, Robert F. Rodriguez.

(Ruben’s Controversial Carving is the second article in the series “Capitals, Gablets, Pinnacles and Label Stops” by photojournalist Robert F. Rodriguez. Unless otherwise noted, all photos are by him.)

Ruben Gibson was already an integral part of the fabric of the Stoneyard Institute by the time he left the cutting shed for the carving shed in 1985.

In the carving shed he added other new skills to his portfolio.

“Ruben was in some ways the best carver to have,” said Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay, who oversaw the training of the newly appointed carvers, Ruben, Cynthia “Cynie” Linton, Joseph Kincannon and D’Ellis “Jeep” Kincannon. “Once you gave him the idea, he was good. (His approach) was always bold,” continued Nicholas.

Ruben arrived at the Stoneyard in late 1980 or early 1981. In his 20’s, he developed keen interest in sculpture, painting and theology. At the Cathedral, Ruben found the perfect marriage of his artistic talent and his spiritual quest – the building of a cathedral.

One of Ruben’s early jobs was running the machine shop, recalls Stephen Boyle, the tower foreman. “It entailed estimating which stones could be cut from the rough block and slabs,” Stephen said. Ruben would then oversee the sawing process, ensuring that the overall dimensions of the stones were accurately cut to size. Ruben’s job as estimator required a good understanding of the fabrication process.

Ruben was well up to the task and was meticulous, painstaking and competent in his approach to everything in the machine shop and cutting shed.

At the carving shed Ruben tackled carving projects including crockets, pinnacles, capitals, and finials, and he designed and carved three unique label stop carvings. 

His first label stop was of a demon, its gaping mouth ready to devour anything in front of it. The limestone block was mounted on top of two layers of railroad ties on his banker. Above was Ruben’s clay model, as this was his first carving from his own design, and Master Carver Nicholas Fairplay required an approved drawing and clay model before carving could begin.

Ruben stood on top of a milk crate at certain points so he could carve the huge pointed ears, fierce nose and furrowed brow.

That carving was finally set on the South façade in the Southwest corner.

Ruben’s second carving toward the end of 1985 depicted a wide-mouthed lion with flowing mane and piercing eyes. A New York Times article commented, “The supple stone faces of Mr. Gibson’s demons, lions and imps seem alive, some as if about to grin or grimace. The lustrous curls in lions’ manes look as if they should flutter in the wind off the Hudson River.” 

The finished lion carving proved to be a hit and was later cast and plaster copies were sold in the Cathedral gift shop.

Perhaps the chance position of Ruben’s third label stop shaped the inspiration behind its design.

He and Nicholas Fairplay determined, by the stone’s specific ID number on the tower blueprint, that this block would sit on the East elevation on the South side – directly in line with Dean Morton’s office.

As an unofficial leader among the workers, Ruben was often the first to champion any workers’ issues with management. He always pushed for the advancement of his co-workers, for whom he was a courageous and eloquent spokesman.

John Walsh, the master of the Stoneyard who appointed Ruben lead carver, said he was sometimes difficult to work with because of his strong opinions.

For instance, when Walsh occasionally hired a talented sculptor from out of town, Ruben objected that more stone carvers should be recruited from Harlem and other inner-city neighborhoods.

So Ruben used the stone’s placement to send a message. But what message?

“I told Ruben that in Germany it is common to carve a gargoyle with its bottom facing the Dean’s house,” said Nicholas Fairplay, who said “mooning gargoyles” in Europe were common.

Ruben liked this idea but as the stone was not elongated enough for a “mooning” gargoyle, he carved a grotesque with its tongue sticking out.

The same New York Times article relates some additional background: “A longtime friend, Thomas Moore, said Mr. Gibson’s skepticism of the church hierarchy can be seen in a grotesque he carved that depicts an impish face with a large nose and a tongue sticking out. The face looks directly at Dean Morton’s office, the source of some of the policies Mr. Gibson disagreed with.”

We can be grateful that Ruben opted to have a tongue sticking out of his carving directed at the Dean and not some other body part.

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Sources:

• New York Times 1/29/1989
• Divine Stone 5/28/2020″Remembering Ruben”