Herman's Head, Part 3: Hostage Rescue

; or, the plan in motion to find and restore the Melville bust

So, where were we? Herman’s head — that is to say, a bust of Melville formerly located on the plaza of 17 State St. in Manhattan — was missing, leaving his birthplace entirely unmarked. Here is Part 1 and Part 2 if you need to catch up.

I still had plenty of unanswered questions about the origins of the bust, the black hole in the record surrounding its installation in 1996, and its removal in 2016, but with no further leads it was time to move on to the most important part of the investigation: finding the bust and returning it to glory on the plaza.

Backed by a dizzying amount of research, I felt ready to take some next steps with regard to RFR Realty, owners of 17 State Street, and the two Melville organizations which, to all of our surprise, turned out to have been the rightful owners the bust all along. However, I needed to proceed with some caution. I don’t often find myself in the middle of, on the one hand, international real estate companies with billion dollar portfolios, and on the other, friendly though still intimidating academic/historical societies run by important people with important jobs. But it was simply inconceivable that there would be no marker whatsoever of Melville’s birthplace in 1819 and somehow this mission fell to me.

I tried to imagine two basic scenarios of what had happened to the bust and how it would inform what came next. Each came with some good and some bad.

One scenario was that the bust was stolen, as a prank or otherwise, and this clearly meant we would never see it again. But the silver lining is that it might mean that RFR had no inherent problem with the bust being on the plaza, and might even be receptive to a replacement. Bill Beckwith, the sculptor, even made a few inquiries for me about the cost of making a new bust from the artist’s proof still in his studio. It would be expensive, but not necessarily out of reach.

The other, less hopeful scenario was that management made a conscious decision to get rid of it. It’s very likely that RFR realized after several decades of the bust staring out from the wall that no one actually knew who owned the bust or where it came from. Recall that by 2016, RFR was 20 years and two building owners removed from the decision to install it. Worse, if that one ‘seasick’ looking photo we saw was any indication, the bust was probably uncared for and in bad shape. In fact, a former curator at New York Unearthed, the long-defunct archaeological exhibit also on the plaza, told me she had periodically cleaned the bust while she worked there simply out of charity to poor, abandoned Herman. But that generosity would have ended in the early 2000s when the exhibit closed. Regardless, if RFR consciously removed the bust then there was a chance they stashed it somewhere waiting for someone to claim it. But what would that mean for their willingness to restore it under the right circumstances?

There was only one way to find out.

The Rescue Mission

As I previously mentioned, I had no success getting in touch with the leasing agents for 17 State Street, and found myself in a well-intentioned but endless goose chase with former employees of RFR and IPSoft, the tenant which had acquired naming rights to the plaza. Each person who kindly responded to my inquiries said they knew nothing about the bust but gave me the name of another person to ask. That person would recommend another person, and so on and so on forever. No one knew a thing, and many had never even noticed the bust on their way in and out of the building.

It was around this time that I pulled those construction permit records for 17 State Street, and saw what I believed to be the record of when they installed the ‘IPSoft Plaza’ sign. In the same row of that spreadsheet was the name of an on-site RFR representative who I suppose was the company’s point person for the job. I’d sent dozens of emails at this point and kept my expectations low, but knew I had an ally right away from his quick response: “I’m a Massachusetts guy myself and Melville fan so happy to help try and solve the mystery.” (He’d also unintentionally highlighted the central injustice and irony of the situation: that Massachusetts natives identify Melville as one of their own, while New Yorkers do not).

Although he’s no longer with the company, he gave me the name of the building’s property manager along with her email and phone number, adding that she would definitely be the right person to ask and was certainly there when the bust was removed. I steeled myself for a very important phone call.

It’s worth noting at this point that while I had been in contact with both the Melville Society and Berkshire County Historical Society (BCHS) to help learn about the bust, it goes without saying that I don’t work for or represent either of them. But, feeling a little cheeky, I knew I could call the property manager and simply inquire about the whereabouts of the bust, letting any ambiguity about credentials work in my favor. It didn’t exactly play out that way.

The same day, I cold-called her and quickly explained the purpose of my intrusion, but she cut me off like any self-respecting New Yorker would do. “It’s secure,” she said (and I quote), as if we were talking about a hostage situation. Then she got right to the point, asking something to the effect of: “Do you own it or what?”

I stammered out the words “well, in 1995 it was jointly purchased by the Berkshire County Historical Soc—” but could hear I had lost her attention. She told me to just put something in writing and hung up.

I was overjoyed. The bust was “secure.” This was monumental (pun intended).

Passing the Torch

I had clearly reached a point where I was operating well above my pay grade, which we might describe as a ‘sub-sub-volunteer’ though that still overstates it. I reached out again to the Melville Society and BCHS and filled them in on what I had found about the bust, sending a draft of all the research I had put together. For context, this was back around November 2024.

There was also one last item of research I needed some help with. The Melville Society’s institutional archives are held at the New Bedford Whaling Museum’s research library. Nothing in the finding aid looked particularly promising with respect to the bust, but there was very possibly a stray mention in financial records or the vaguely labeled correspondence. Living as far away from the whaling museum as I do, I needed someone to quickly browse the contents of a few folders I had identified for any information that could fill in gaps in the record. The folks at the Melville Society were happy to help, but it would have to wait until early January when the Melville world descended on New Bedford for their annual Moby-Dick Marathon. Herman’s head would have to languish in storage for at least a few more months.

Come January, the marathon rolled on as it rolled 28 years ago, but the archives revealed nothing at all about the bust or whatever celebrations did or did not happen. But there was something else intriguing that’s worth a small detour in our story.

Attack of the 50 Foot Melville Quote

If you recall, at the same time that the two Melville organizations were planning to install the bust at 17 State Street, there was a parallel yet wholly unaffiliated Melville project within a stone’s throw. Per that BCHS newsletter from the summer of 1996, there were plans to incorporate a Melville quote into the ground of Pier A at Battery Park. It was to be “a great quotation from Moby-Dick about Manhattan and the Battery” written in “three concentric arcs of 18 foot letters in the concrete.”

Here’s the exact location of the Pier A plaza with two views as it looks today, where you can imagine the general placement of the quote.

Source: Google Maps

Source: Google Earth

Source: NYLandmarks.org

Although they were separate projects, I was curious if there might nevertheless be some information about the bust in the plans for the Battery quote. I sent records requests to the Battery Park City Authority and the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission, both of which came up empty. So, I decided to drop this angle for the time being having no further leads and no idea who was even behind the idea.

Ironically, though, while the search of the Melville Society archives in January turned up nothing on the installation of their own bust, there was something about that quote: a letter from Melville Society Secretary Sanford Marovitz to Warrie Price, head of an organization called Conservancy for Historic Battery Park. In the letter dated November 27, 1996, Marovitz commends and encourages the project, writing “If any doubt exists among you over the question of its being a truly worthy contribution to your ultimate goal of celebrating Battery Park, please allow me to assuage it.”

Dear Ms. Price:

A little while ago I learned that the Conservancy for Historic Battery Park is considering a project that would document in steel the firm association that exists between Herman Melville and that historic area.

As you know, Melville lived and worked not far from there for many years, and even before his days in the Custom House, he celebrated that portion of lower Manhattan Island in the first chapter of Moby-Dick, long considered not only his most important novel but also one of the greatest novels originally published in English. I was informed that the aim of your project would be to embed the relevant passage letter by steel letter into the Pier A Plaza at Battery Park.

Of course, I do not know exactly which words you would choose from Moby-Dick, but I suspect that they would be selected from the following, which constitute the second paragraph of the opening chapter: "There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme down-town is the Battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there." The description is timeless, and a passage chosen from it would both universalize "that noble mole" and tie it firmly to the commercial and cultural history of the Battery as it existed in Melville's own day.

Speaking on behalf of the Melville Society, which is devoted to studying and expanding interest in Melville's life and writing, I can assure you that to us your project is exciting news, indeed. When completed it will be a monumental tribute to Melville and Moby-Dick no less than to the Historic Battery Park on which your Conservancy focuses. I should like to publicize your undertaking to the full membership of the Society as soon as I know whether and when you expect to begin working on it. If any doubt exists among you over the question of its being a truly worthy contribution to your ultimate goal of celebrating Battery Park, please allow me and the Melville Society to help assuage it. Your aim is noble, and your accomplishment will be grand. If I can be of assistance in fostering and implementing your project, please do not hesitate to write and let me know how I can help you.

While the letter admittedly doesn’t provide a ton of new information about quote either, it very notably makes zero mention of the bust which was supposed to have just been installed a few blocks away two months earlier. Not ‘this will be a nice complement to our recent Melville project not even a quarter of a mile away’ or even a ‘wow what a coincidence!’ It was truly a mystery that refused to reveal any hints.

Critically, though, I also had a name to follow up with. Almost thirty years later, Warrie Price is still the president of the non-profit (now known as The Battery Conservancy) which has raised over $62 million to revitalize the park since founding the organization in 1994.

Over the phone, Price confirmed the details of the plan and explained a bit about what happened. In short, the Moby-Dick quote was part of a plan to revamp Pier A, which included renovating the historic building along the pier which had sat vacant for many years. Price recalled that she commissioned a design for the lettering from WXY Studio, an architecture and urban design firm responsible for dozens of major urban renewal projects throughout the metro area. (Needless to say, I reached out to WXY Studio several times, hoping to find the designs for the pier, but never heard back.)

Of course, the installation never happened. Disputes ensued between the city, developers, and Battery Park stakeholders prevented redevelopment for years, and everything you need to know about it is captured in exhausted headlines like “Plans for Pier Bogged Down in a Dispute With the City” and “Again, a Question of What to Do With Pier A,” the latter published more than a decade after the process began.

Price recalled that the more proximate reason her organization was given back in 1996 had something to do with the New York City Fire Department, which had used Pier A as a fireboat station from 1960 until 1992 and for some reason still had veto power over what happened to it next. It’s unclear why, exactly, the Melville project was rejected, though uncertainty about the future of the pier likely didn’t help. For what it’s worth, the building opened it to the public in late 2014 full of shops and restaurants, but closed during the pandemic and has never reopened. It is, yet again, the subject of endless litigation.

Back to the Bust

With only the letter about the Battery quote to show for the archival research at the whaling museum, there was nothing left to do but send the letter to the property manager at 17 State Street, as sternly requested. Attached to the letter was some key documentary evidence like Bill Beckwith’s payment records and the BCHS board meeting records/newsletter which firmly established that the bust belonged to the two Melville organizations.

The ask was to confirm that the building still had the bust in its possession and to see if the Melville Society and BCHS could start a conversation with management about reinstalling the bust on the plaza. And, if possible, would they send a photo of the bust? I was curious to see the state it’s in and if it would need any repairs, but more than anything I’m just nosy and wanted to see it.

And that, friends, is where things stand. The letter went out in mid-January and we’re still waiting for a response. As I mentioned last time, the building is going through some financial issues such as ::cough:: possible foreclosure, so it’s possible that this request isn’t exactly top of mind. If you know anyone with ties to the building and want to nudge them to respond, please do! But also, if you know any billionaires who might be interested in buying a New York City skyscraper in foreclosure, this would also be a great time to give them a call! “Melville Tower” has a nice ring to it, no?

Regardless, I’ll provide any updates as soon as I have something to report!

Thanks!

Infinite thanks for their help to sculptor Bill Beckwith; Dawn Coleman and Mary K. Bercaw Edwards at The Melville Society; Lesley Herzberg and Erin Hunt at the Berkshire County Historical Museum at Arrowhead; as well as Warrie Price and dozens of other folks from the Melville community, curators and staff from New York Unearthed, the South Street Seaport Museum, the Maurice Sendak archives, “Damned in Paradise” director Karen Thomas, Patricia Ward Kelly, and the various folks from 17 State Street and IPSoft who all graciously fielded my odd questions into a very mysterious statue!