When visiting European cities I am always much more aware of the urban realm than when I am at home. Perhaps this is because of my European upbringing, coupled with growing up in cities. This early initiation gave me a foundation to better understand the richness of cities and, in particular, the ceremonial spaces of the seat of the Habsburgs in Vienna, were I lived between the ages of five and twelve.
Later, as an adult studying architecture, and living and traveling throughout the Old Continent, I witnessed public spaces and places in a new way, one that emphasized and defined the public realm. Not that public and publicness are less important in the United States, but there seems to be a civic tradition in Europe that clearly defines what is called the public realm. Streets, parks, and civic buildings are key to the formation of a city’s publicness, and the built environment is vital to the interaction of people and how they relate to one another.
Often associated with the public realm, urban pavilions and furniture enhance and help create open public spaces. Seen recently in Berlin, the original function of the Berlin light tower seems to me to be one of these examples.
An urban interest
A colleague of mine once said that I am a collector of collections. While I have come to admit that this pleonasm is true and am flattered, the greater part of my collection has, over decades, focused on artifacts representing the urban realm: vintage postcards of New York City’s skyscrapers and other public landmarks; miniature metal buildings originating as a tradition from the Grand Tour; antique city maps; and city views as pieces of art—mostly representing places I have lived in or admired during repeated visits. And yes, the collection features tacky snow globes featuring cities, perhaps a balance to the more tasteful parts.
I recognize that these urban collections describe popular landmarks, thus their subject matter is often considered tourist memorabilia, a phenomenon that dates back thousands of years with the collection of reliquaries, metal badges, and even chips off of famous buildings. Since the 16th century, and, in particular, the 18th century when tourism was consolidated by the British, the French term souvenir (remembrance in English) was adopted and came to mean an irresistible item to collect as a substitute or trigger for memories and meanings of travel experiences. I know that this is the case for me as most physical objects in my home can be traced back to the place or moment of their purchase.
Sometimes, souvenirs or mementos cannot be purchased, particularly when they are integral to the urban environment and are to be admired only in situ. This is the case of the 1956 light tower located minutes away from my hotel in Berlin, Germany this winter.
Traffic control pulpit
My first encounter with the light tower (often called a traffic control pulpit) was on the night of my arrival in the German capital. After an initial foray to the nearby Christmas Market, I was walking back to my hotel in the Charlottenburg neighborhood when I noticed a strange, cantilevered structure hovering towards the intersection between Kurfürstendamm and Joachimsthaler Straße.
My eyes were drawn to the elevated prismatic glass box supported by a double structural concrete pillar. It hovered asymmetrically at the front of an elongated canopy that extended back into the plaza. This form, the light box, looked like the crow’s nest of a ship. Initially, I didn’t know what its function was, as it was empty and seemed unused for a long time. However, I quickly realized that given the overall tectonics and positioning of the glass pavilion, it must have served as a light tower to control traffic.
While occupying a prominent space at Joachimsthaler Platz, I learned that this piece of urban furniture is a relic that has both historical and sentimental value in the city. This is because when built it represented an era’s faith in the car, and now serves as an architectural artifact for the period of post WWII modernity in Berlin.
The art of building in the 1950s and 1960s promoted a style that emphasized functionality, clean lines, asymmetrical composition, a clear expression of structure, and straightforward methods of construction through the use of new materials. With time, and a new appreciation of this period of architecture, the light tower became an icon of that era as Berliners considered it of historical and artistic importance.
The resulting pavilion—which includes the light tower, kiosk, underground restrooms, subway entrance, and now dismantled telephone booths—represent a 1950s composition of clearly articulated volumes that address the street intersection. Assembling the various functions is accomplished through the joining of the unique sweeping paper-thin canopy evocative of a large umbrella that anchors the kiosk on the ground floor, and the glass volume that houses the workplace of the traffic policemen above.
The canopy is supported by six slender columns that extend to the opposite side of the light tower to where the Kurfürstendamm subway entrance is located. Parallel to the subway staircase, and in the opposite direction, are the staircases leading to the underground public restrooms. After several visits to the pavilion during both day and evening, what intrigued me most about this piece of urban furniture—beyond the architectural and sculptural tectonics and clear language of the 1950s—was that the identity of the artifact had multifunctional roles.
These were the control of traffic at the busy intersection; kiosk amenities where pedestrians could easily purchase newspapers and magazines, cigarettes, candies and beverages, lottery tickets and transportation tickets; a subway entrance; public restrooms; and, when it first opened, telephone booths. These amenities are brought into harmony without sacrificing any of the individual primary functions. Of note, I also very much appreciate that both sides of the light tower consoles feature a clock that give a temporal dimension to pedestrians running to catch the subway or strolling down Kurfürstendamm.
Materials
The pavilion features vertical corrugated brushed aluminum at the base of the kiosk; thin aluminum profiles on all window frames; large glass panels for the light tower with a minimum of casements and mullions resulting in corners that are mostly glass; brushed reinforced concrete for the light tower and cantilevered canopy; non-descript railings that have been updated to code for the subway entrance stairs; and finally, slender steel columns that were paired to provide a more symbolic entrance to the subway station.
Conclusion
Like many of my blogs that do not cover academic topics, my interests are diverse and often seemingly come from left field. But what is certain for me is that so much within the urban landscape is often disregarded or not seen for its current and past value. Walking in the street is no longer a pastime, one the 19th century flaneur would recognize, where the discovery of modernity was part of one’s journey. Today, I see students, especially on field trips, move from one site to another, head down, missing the unexpected surprises that arise during transit. Cell phones are de rigueur, looking for the nearest McDonald’s, or seeking bargains during a quick shopping spree are sad realities that prevent the joy of the unexpected.
Postscript (text from panel on light tower)
“You are standing in front of the only surviving traffic tower in Berlin, which came into use in April 1956. To control the flow of vehicles in front of Joachimsthaler Platz, a policeman, who watched traffic from above, changed the traffic lights in the intersection by the touch of a button. The tower became superfluous with the introduction of automatic traffic control six years later. Since 1989, the building site (which also includes a kiosk, access to the subway, and a public toilet) has been protected by historical monument status.
At a height of 4.5 meters, the lass Tower offered a panoramic view over the intersection of Kurfürstendamm/Joachimsthaler Straße for up to two traffic policemen. The officer, normally dressed in a white uniform, would climb a ladder on a reinforced concrete support at the back, entering through the concrete roof to access his workstation—one which required the highest level of concentration. Depending on the amount of traffic, he would press a button several times a minute to change the traffic lights at one of [West] Berlin’s busiest intersections. But the flow of vehicles swelled steadily, which made manual switching of traffic lights increasingly more difficult. As of October 1962 [a year after the erection of the Berlin Wall] the traffic lights at that intersection were centrally controlled from the police headquarters in Berlin-Kreuzberg.
The observation tower on Kurfürstendamm is an exception monument of German traffic history. It is considered a landmark, representing a general faith in unrestricted mobility and a car-friendly city of the pos-war period. The architects Werner Klenka and Werner Düttmann designed this structure under the direction of Bruno Grimniek in a 1950s style featuring asymmetrical lines and seemingly light elements. The rim of blue glass encircling the roof of the tower served as glare protection.
The tower is part of a building ensemble completed in April 1956, with a public toilet, newspaper kiosk and an entrance to the Kurfürstendamm subway station. It once had several telephone booths that lined the back of the kiosk. The complex architectural site unites quite varied tasks and combines public and semi-public as well as aboveground and underground areas only a few such towers were built in German. They were an intermediate stage between stationing a policeman in the intersection, who directed cards with a signaling disc to the automatic traffic light network, which was controlled from a traffic control center.
The traffic tower has repeatedly survived plans for its demolition. Artists have at times used in for video installations, among other purposes. In 1989 the building ensemble was placed under the protection of historic preservation as a German-wide rarity and because of its historical and artistic significance for the urban cityscape.”
Text: Karolin Steinke
Translation: Wendy Wallis
Additional Blogs or content of interest
New York vintage traffic signals
Verkehrskanzel (Berlin-Charlottenburg) in German