What’s Inside The Secret 28th Floor Of This Skyscraper?

Buffalo City Hall is one of the largest art deco buildings in the United States. Its sprawling vaulted passages are covered in brilliant mosaic art, while hidden inside the legislative chamber lies a cosmic time capsule ceiling made of beautiful stained glass. And there's the fact that this building sits at the center of a radial street hub. Sitting at the exact center of a massive radial street layout, the city's major boulevards radiate outward from the plaza like rays of light from the sun. Now, aside from the decorative elements, Buffalo City Hall also holds many mysteries. For example, its massive interior was engineered to harness the fierce gales of Lake Erie, utilizing a passive wind tunnel designed inside the walls to naturally ventilate the fortress. And deep in the sub-basement is the Tunnel of Tears, a restricted underground labyrinth where high-risk inmates are marched beneath the city's streets unseen. Then we have the secrets of the 28th floor, a temple-like area completely inaccessible by elevator, but open to those who are brave enough to challenge the stairs. So how did such a magnificent building come to be? What is the truth behind its mysteries? And what's inside that 28th floor? Stay tuned to find out as we explore the story of Buffalo's City Hall. I'm your host Ryan Socash, and you're watching It's History. In many ways, the rise of Buffalo is a classic tale of rapid industrial expansion. Positioned at the natural eastern terminus of Lake Erie, the small settlement was transformed in 1825 with the opening of the Erie Canal. Almost overnight, Buffalo became the gateway to the west, a vital inland shipping bottleneck where midwestern grain and western raw materials were transferred to canal boats bound for New York City. It was here that heavy manufacturing, steel mills, and grain elevators quickly came to dominate the waterfront and the skyline alike. Then, on November the 16th, 1896, Buffalo made global history. The city successfully harnessed the roaring hydroelectric torrent of the nearby Niagara Falls. Utilizing Nikola Tesla's revolutionary alternating current system, engineers transmitted high-voltage electricity over 20 miles away, marking the first time in history that a major metropolis was powered by long-distance energy. This was a dazzling technological milestone that would soon cause millions of awestruck visitors at the 1901 World's Fair to officially dub Buffalo the City of Lights. And so, between the Erie Canal and harnessing the power of the falls, Buffalo became a global industrial titan. In that context, by 1920, the city's municipal framework was buckling under the weight of its own success. The city's population had quadrupled to over 500,000 residents, yet the local government was still operating out of the Old County Hall, a beautiful granite structure designed by Andrew Jackson Warner on Church and Franklin Streets. Now, although the building was representative, it did not meet the modern needs. Shared with Erie County, the building was hopelessly overcrowded. To compensate for this, municipal departments were scattered across rented offices throughout downtown, severely crippling efficiency. Hence, Buffalo desperately needed to centralize public services. And it also seemed that they were looking for a projection of their regional wealth. In 1920, a citywide referendum authorized the Buffalo Common Council to select a site for their new hub. They chose Niagara Square, a historical focal point of the original 1804 radial street plan. The planning phase initially belonged to chief architect John Wade, who pitched an aggressive 25-story tower, though city officials rejected those first drafts, citing budget constraints and a lack of practical layout. Rather than backing down, Wade partnered with another local architect who was well-versed in public buildings, as well as a New York consultant who had just designed the similarly massive Alfred E. Smith State Office Building in Albany. Together, they formed a new architecture firm and expanded the concept into a towering 32-story skyscraper, utilizing setback massing, which adhered to modern zoning light laws. Additionally, John Wade famously rejected classic European imagery, dubbing his bold, machine-age design as American-esque. In 1927, satisfied with the scale and the symbolic power of the blueprints, the city finalized the site acquisition for $698,930, signed off on the plans, and prepared to reshape the skyline. Ground broke at Niagara Square on September 16, 1929, under the leadership of the main contractor and the John W. Cooper Company. And, although generally speaking, with the Great Depression, private construction across America grounded to a sudden halt at this time, the Buffalo Project went on and became an essential source of public employment. With the help of industrial steam cranes and a massive workforce of local steelworkers, crews pushed the skyscraper upward at a frantic pace, assembling a skeleton of over 9,000 tons of structural steel. By May 14, 1930, the city celebrated a major milestone with the formal cornerstone. Thousands of citizens crammed into Niagara Square to watch officials seal a time capsule inside the stone, packed with contemporary newspapers, historical city rosters, and a tiny, detailed model of the building itself. The massive steel frame was later covered with a rugged base of gray Minnesota granite, Ohio sandstone, and crowned at the summit with intricate, multi-colored, polychrome terracotta V-shaped patterns, whereas the building's interior was an absolute masterpiece of logistics. Electricians threaded over 110 miles of copper wire, weighing a massive 43 tons, and fitted 47 miles of heavy iron conduit pipe through the concrete floors to power a synchronized system of up to 143 clocks, regulated by a master timepiece in the sub-basement. Amazingly, despite the dizzying heights and the frantic speed of construction, the building was completed without a single worker fatality, a staggering safety feat for a 398-foot skyscraper in the 1930s. By September 31, less than two years after groundbreaking, the first municipal offices began moving into the lower floors. On November 10, 1931, the keys were officially handed over, delivering a 32-story machine-aged palace to the people of Buffalo on time and completed within its $7 million budget. And the final effects were simply amazing. When Buffalo City Hall was officially completed, it stood as a towering 32-story Art Deco fortress that ranked among the largest and most massive municipal buildings ever constructed in the United States. At a height of 398 feet, this monolithic-looking palace encompasses over 500,000 square feet of interior office space. Its skeleton was forged from more than 9,000 tons of structural steel, and it has over 1,520 individual windows, all of which have been uniquely engineered to open inward for safety. Dominating the historic Niagara Square, this building suggested to the rest of the world that Buffalo could compete with cities such as Chicago or New York. And I want you guys to really appreciate the mastery that the engineers and designers needed in order to erect this spectacle of a building. And the surprising thing is that John Wade, the visionary behind the building's so-called American-esque style, actually returned to education later in his life in order to gain the skills necessary to construct such a masterpiece. Kind of a side note here, but I actually found this part of the story to be so inspirational that it made me reconsider my own career, thinking about perhaps doing something off YouTube. But to make that kind of change, a master's degree would be very helpful. Here's the thing, I only have a bachelor's in photography. Long story short, I was supposed to continue my education at the Art Institute of Chicago, but I took what was meant to be a three-week trip to Europe, and 20 years later, I'm still here with three kids and a wife. And I'm sure many of you can relate to this. The idea of actually going back to school kind of feels out of reach. Well, that was the case until I came across the sponsor of today's video, Southern New Hampshire University. SNHU is one of the largest accredited universities in the country, with over 200 degree programs, many online, and everything built around flexibility. No set class times. You work when you can, where you can. You can also transfer up to 90 credits, whether they're academic, military, or experimental. What I appreciate most about the university is that they really make education accessible to students in every stage of life. In fact, I'm considering pursuing a master's in creative writing there, so that I can expand into fields such as book publishing, which would be an amazing opportunity. Their online tuition rates are some of the most affordable in the nation, which is why U.S. News & World Report has actually voted them one of the country's most innovative universities. Again, if you're looking for a new start or a career change, SNHU is a great resource to do so. If you'd like to learn more, go to snhu.edu slash itshistory to find your path forward. Accepting U.S. students only. A special thanks to the university for supporting the channel, but now it's time to have a look at what's inside Buffalo's City Hall. Starting deep in the sub-basement is a restricted concrete labyrinth known as the Tunnel of Tears. This tunnel was originally built in 1891 as part of another structure, but for the same purpose, and was later integrated into the new City Hall's maximum security pipeline, connecting the local holding cells directly to the courts. As legend has it, its haunting nickname stems from a grim psychological reality. Prisoners walked through the tunnel full of hope before their trials, only to return through the damp, echoing passage, weeping in handcuffs, after being sentenced to years behind bars. I'm actually a bit curious if anyone watching this has ever been taken through there as a prisoner. Let us know if you guys really cry in that tunnel on your way back to jail. Somehow I doubt it, but your comment could help us solve that mystery. The ground floor couldn't be more different than the tunnels below it. Guests emerge into a breathtaking, three-story, machine-aged cathedral. Many visitors report that even if you have zero interest in architecture, you'll be amazed. Through this passage, thousands of interlocking mosaic tiles form a massive, vibrant Native American chief's headdress, laid completely flat, radiating outward from a blazing sun at the center. And this sentiment is contrasted. Flanking the corridors are larger-than-life poetic statues and murals, displaying the industrial imagery of steelworkers, colossal grain elevators, and ships conquering Lake Erie. The upper floors of the building have always been accessible via traction elevators. In fact, the originals were furnished by the Curtis Elevator Company, the oldest active elevator company in the United States at the time. As the building's capacity and technological needs grew over the subsequent decades, however, the Otis Elevator Company, a global industrial giant, was brought in to install additional elevators and take over the system's management. While the elevator bank on the ground floor does retain its jaw-dropping, historic 1931 art deco appearance, the elevators themselves have undergone extreme modernization and look quite different. And if you were to take one of those elevators to the 13th floor, you'd come across City Hall's next celebrated feature, the Common Council Chamber. This is a semi-circular auditorium. The roof opens into an enormous, sunburst, stained-glass skylight. The artwork functions as a cosmic time capsule, explicitly mapping out the exact configuration of the sun, moon, and planets in the heavens over Buffalo, a map which illustrates the precise day that the building was completed in 1931. Additionally, if you look closely under the seats, you'll find another particular piece of 1930s history. Every single chair is equipped with a specialized metal rack designed to hold a gentleman's derby hat. Beyond that, the elevator line cuts off entirely at the 25th floor, which perhaps is a bit strange in a building with 32 stories. You see, Buffalo City Hall is built like a tiered art deco pyramid. As the building goes higher, the floors get smaller and narrower. By the time you reach the 25th floor, the square footage of the tower shrinks drastically compared to the massive floors below it. Add that to the fact that for a traction elevator to work, it requires a massive machine room located directly above the highest stop. In the case of City Hall, the room houses a gigantic electric motor, heavy steel cables, and counterweights, all needed to lift the cab. In other words, the building's crown narrows so sharply above the 25th floor that there simply wasn't enough space inside the tower's core for an elevator. Meaning, to reach Buffalo's best-kept secret, the 28th floor open-air observation deck, you have to locate an unmarked stairwell and hike the final three stories by foot. Many visitors have reported that climbing into the building's narrow stone crown almost feels like ascending an ancient temple. When you finally step through its doors, you're blasted by the treacherous gale force winds roaring off the lake. And this is the highest publicly accessible space in the city. From this open platform, 398 feet in the air, you get a perfect bird-eyes view of Buffalo's radial street layout, which appears like giant wheel spokes shooting out through the square below it. The observation deck can also offer a unique perception on the extreme winds of the Great Lakes, a fact that has also been incorporated into the building's cooling system. Another design choice was to strategically position City Hall as to face the heavy, predictable gales rolling off the lake. So that these effects can be captured, architects installed massive, prominent air intake vents directly onto the western exterior facade of the skyscraper. So, when the lake winds slam into the building, they are naturally scooped into the where it's then pushed straight down through a series of internal shafts, all the way down to a subterranean cavern beneath the sub-basement. Now, because this cavern is located so deep underground, the surrounding earth keeps it at a constant, naturally chilly temperature year-round. As the warm summer wind travels through the deepest zone, the heat is transferred out, instantly cooling the air down. Then, the naturally chilled air is redirected into an extensive web of internal ventilation shafts that climb upward throughout the building's core. Thus, refreshing air is released into the individual offices and chambers. Under normal conditions, the natural velocity of the wind is so intense that it creates enough positive pressure to force the air through the entire system on its own, requiring zero electricity to move it. However, engineers did install 21 heavy-duty electric motor fans in both the basement and attic as a backup system to assist with airflow on those stagnant days when the lake breeze dies down. And with that in mind, I should also probably point out that the heating system was not nearly as efficient. When the building opened, it was heated by low-pressure steam, generated by massive fire tube coal boilers buried in the sub-basement. Because Buffalo was one of the largest coal transportation hubs in the U.S. back then, supplying the building was rather straightforward. Coal was delivered directly by heavy industrial trucks coming from the nearby waterfront rail yards. Upon delivery, workers flipped open heavy iron sidewalk grates and the coal was just dumped directly down vertical gravity-fed chutes into massive storage bunkers built under the sidewalks and sub-basement floors. Once that coal was ultimately shoveled into the roaring boilers to heat the building's 47 miles of internal pipe network, the resulting ash also had to be removed. For this, a specialized mechanical ash hoist was engineered to lift bins of waste back up to street level so that utility trucks could haul it away. Actually, the use of coal changed the building's physical appearance. For decades, the dark coal suit stained the light exterior. By the mid-20th century, the building had turned almost entirely black, leading generations of locals to believe that it was built from dark stone. Until a massive chemical wash in the late 20th century ultimately restored its original green color. These days, City Hall no longer burns raw fuel in the basement, the historic coal bunkers have been cleared out, and the original boilers were retired. In its place, the skyscraper is heated using a highly efficient setup known as district heating. And those are only a few of the massive changes that the building has seen since the city experienced a great decline around the mid-century. As the 1950s rolled in, the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway bypassed Buffalo's shipping lanes. Not long after, industry began to fall. For the next 30 years, the city plunged into a deep, desperate economic decline. This is when over half of its population fled, leaving behind empty factories, neighborhoods, and a city treasury that was utterly broke. Inside City Hall, things grew oddly calm and neglected. Because the city could no longer afford routine maintenance, the building began to physically wither alongside the citizens that governed it. According to some sources, as the exterior of the building further degraded from pollution, internal areas also suffered. Apparently, and I could not verify this, the vibrant mosaic ceiling in the lobby was dulled by decades of cigarette smoke and grime. In the upper offices, beautiful art deco details were covered up with cheap drywall and drop ceilings because it was cheaper to trap heat in small spaces than to properly warm the towering bolted chambers. And by the 1970s, the grand 28th floor observation deck became a place associated with dark tragedies involving a young man, a gust of wind, and a flagpole. But we'll leave it at that. Yet, in a strange twist of fate, around this time, the hardships may have actually been what saved the building in the end. In short, Buffalo was too broke to afford the so-called urban renewal or progress demolition projects that had leveled so many other historic downtown areas across America in the 1960s and 70s. And thus, the City Hall was left completely intact. Be that as it may, in the end, Buffalo rose once again. By the 1990s, City Hall was enshrined on the National Register of Historic Places. In the 2000s, general renovations were carried out to restore the edifice's original glory. And in the modern day, Buffalo's broader economic stabilization around things like healthcare, higher education, and tech fixed the rest. So just like that, in the town's resurrection, City Hall also evolved into something of a major global tourist destination as the building is celebrated as one of the finest examples of art deco architecture in North America. So that's the story of Buffalo City Hall, its mysterious 28th floor, and that amazing AC solution. I really hope that you all enjoyed the episode and will consider subscribing to support the channel. Otherwise, until next time, this is Ryan Socash, signing off.