American History Tellers - America’s Monuments | The Colossus of New York Harbor | 1

Episode Date: February 24, 2021

It’s perhaps the most iconic of American monuments -- the Statue of Liberty. A towering 305-foot sculpture of copper and steel that is synonymous with American values of liberty, freedom and self-determination. But it began as a gift from France. And when it first arrived on American soil, its future was far from certain.For over a decade, artists, craftsmen and everyday people from France and the United States worked together on what would be dubbed America’s “New Colossus.” The statue they built would take on new associations with the passage of time -- but it would forever remain a symbol of America’s loftiest ideals.Listen to new episodes 1 week early and to all episodes ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App https://wondery.app.link/historytellers.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's September, 1876, a clear, breezy afternoon in Philadelphia. It's the 100th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and the city is overrun by crowds coming to visit the Centennial Exhibition. This weekend, you and your friend Maddie have organized a trip to Fairmont Park, where the exhibition is being held. A barker's voice calls to you nearby.

Travel up in the torch. Broaden your perspective from a bird's-eye view. This morning, you already saw the demonstration for a contraption called the telephone. You also tasted some samples of tomato ketchup from a man named Hines. But the sight before you is by far the most impressive. You're staring up at an enormous copper statue of a hand holding

a torch. Your friend points to it. They're calling it the Statue of Liberty. It must be as tall as a three-story building. Below the hand and torch is a kiosk selling miniature statues and pamphlets. A large illustration showing the full statue is painted on the side of the kiosk. As you buy a pair of tickets, the barker gives you both a wary glance. Are you sure you ladies have the constitution to climb the ladder to the top? It's pretty high. We'll manage. Thank you kindly.

You go up first with Maddie following behind you. It is tricky climbing the rungs in your heeled boots, but you both finally emerge onto a narrow balcony surrounding the torch. You catch a breath as you look around, taking in the city just beyond the swirling waters of the Schuylkill River. People look small and far away, milling about the exhibition grounds. What a view! I can see Independence Hall from here! But the look on Maddy's face is doubtful.

You know, they'll never finish the rest of the statue. What? Certainly not. No, there's not enough money for it. I read about it in the Enquirer. You're telling me that the city of New York doesn't have any money? Oh no, the French. They're the ones who promised the whole statue as a gift,

but now they're saying they can't afford to finish it. I read they're suspending the whole project. Typical of the French, really. I think it's a nice gesture. There's no such thing as a nice gesture from a foreign country. The whole idea of the statue feels to me like some kind of Trojan horse. It's not likely that hundreds of Frenchmen are going to come pouring out of it and take over the country. But Matty doesn't laugh at your joke. No foreign country has the right to tell us about liberty. We're the ones who just fought a war over it. And look around. Our innovation and industry is the best in the world. I still think

it's a lovely image, and I like that it's a woman, not some war hero with a giant mustache. Finally, you get a smile out of Maddie. But standing here on the torch's balcony, you're filled with a sense of awe. You hope that they do find a way to build the rest of the statue. Seems like such an enormous undertaking. Why shouldn't they try? Nothing quite like this has ever been done before. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away.

Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the

untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. On our show, we take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday citizens as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now.

Mount Rushmore, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Over the years, these and other structures have become emblems of people, places, and events in American history. But what do these structures say about how we view ourselves as a nation? How have their meanings changed over time? And what controversies lie hidden in their foundations? This is the first in a six-part series that explores American monuments, their stories, their construction, and how they've come to embody different aspects of our country. We'll begin with perhaps the most iconic American monument of all, the Statue of Liberty, a towering 305-foot sculpture of copper and steel that is synonymous with American values of liberty, freedom, and self-determination. But the origins

of America's most recognizable monument began not in the United States, but in France. They came in the troubled years after the Civil War, as America began to heal its wounds and step out onto the global stage. But the statue itself was nearly never completed. For over a decade, artists, craftsmen, and everyday people from France and the United States embarked on a historic venture, one that would require international cooperation and innovative advancements in architecture, sculpture, and fundraising. The statue they built would take on new associations with the passage of time, but it would forever remain a symbol of America's

loftiest ideals. This is Episode 1, The Colossus of New York Harbor. By 1865, America's long and bloody civil war was finally over. The world's youngest democracy was battered and bruised by a divisive conflict, but also turning optimistically towards its future. News of the Union victory and the emancipation of enslaved people reverberated across the Atlantic Ocean. And nowhere was the news more intently received than in the salon of a French writer and legal scholar named Edouard Laboullier. The 55-year-old Laboullier was one of the United States' biggest fans.

He'd written a three-volume history of the young nation and was a vocal advocate of abolition and the Union cause. He was also chairman of the French Anti-Slavery Society and a patron of the arts, and used his salons to socialize with up-and-coming writers and artists. Among these was a sculptor named Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi. Bartholdi was in his mid-thirties, handsome, charismatic, and able to easily move through upper-class French society. Raised by a single

mother in the Alsace region of France, he developed a talent for painting and sculpting from his teenage years. Bartholdi was drawn to Le Boulier's salons, to the mix of conversations on art, theater, and philosophy. The two men shared ideals, too, and so when Laboulier had an idea for a new venture, he turned to Bartholdi. Laboulier wanted to build a monument for the United States, a colossal statue that would celebrate the end of slavery and America's dedication to the ideals of liberty and freedom.

It would also serve as an inspiration for France to aim for those same ideals and represent the bond between the two countries. He wanted to finance and construct the statue in France, then deliver it to the United States as a gift. In Bartholdi, Le Boulier found a perfect collaborator. Bartholdi had been dreaming of a large-scale project for more than a decade. As a student in his early twenties, he toured Egypt and the Nile River Basin. He drew inspiration from the 70-foot-tall twin statues of Pharaoh Amenhotep III. After returning to France, he began pondering how to work in those colossal terms,

like the seven wonders of the world. Bartoldi longed to create his own wonder of the world. In 1869, he'd nearly gotten his chance. Through a meeting with the Viceroy of Egypt, he was able to propose a design for a lighthouse to stand at the entrance of the newly built Suez Canal. But instead of a traditional lighthouse, Bartoldi had presented a towering figure of a robed woman holding up a lantern. Bartoldi's idea was rejected, but now he wondered whether it could be used for the sculpture that Le Boulier was envisioning, a gift celebrating friendship with America. Bartholdi showed Le Boulier the design for

his statue, but he'd made some small changes. It was still a robed woman, but instead of a lantern, she now held a torch. He called his sculpture, Liberty Enlightening the World. Le Boullier was enamored with the young sculptor's imagery and agreed to subsidize Bartholdi on a promotional tour of the United States. In just a few years, it would be 1876, the centennial of America's founding. The statue would be the perfect gift and symbol. Both men felt certain it could be done by then. the centennial of America's founding. The statue would be the perfect gift and symbol. Both men felt certain it could be done by then.

In the summer of 1871, Bartholdi set sail for America, armed with Le Boulier's letters of introduction. His first stop was New York, America's largest city, and his and Le Boulier's first choice for the statue's home. The confident sculptor was welcomed into the homes and parlors

of wealthy and influential New York citizens, all of them eager to hear more about this statue of friendship from the French people. Sure of his success, Bartholdi's first task was to decide where in this vast and teeming city he could put his statue. Imagine it's June 1871, a warm, humid morning in New York City. You're on a charter boat venturing out into New York Harbor. The buildings of Manhattan stretch out behind you as the boat cuts its way across the water. At the boat's prow stands Auguste Bartholdi looking out into the harbor. The French sculptor is the reason you're here.

As one of the editors of Harper's Monthly magazine, you're part of the welcoming committee that organized this tour. Your rise to becoming an editor at one of the city's largest magazines had been fueled by hard work, ambition, and a fair amount of hardship. Few other women have reached such heights. Monsieur Bartoldi? He turns as you approach. You notice that some spray from the waves has gotten on his glasses. He's got a tourist map spread out in his hands. How are you finding New York City, sir? Is it as you imagined?

It is. It's a delightful place. Busier than I imagined. A perfect city to begin my study of the American mind. And what have you discovered? That it is primarily concerned with money. You laugh out loud at this. The sculptor looks momentarily confused, as if he might have offended you.

I only meant that this country is very quickly building itself into something large, something vast. You didn't offend me. In fact, I'd say you're quite perceptive. The statue I'm thinking of would reflect that vastness. It would be a symbol of the country's growth and its ideals of liberty and justice. But our liberty isn't shared equally by everyone. Your President Lincoln emancipated the slaves. He did. He did. But freedom doesn't guarantee liberty. In fact, it doesn't guarantee anything. Jobs are still

scarce. Wages are still low. Our fellow black citizens are treated reprehensibly. And despite my education, I still don't have the right to vote. No woman in this country does. And a statue would not solve these problems. But perhaps. Just then, Bartol D. stretches his arm out, pointing at a small island just ahead. That's it. There. Bedloe's Island. He holds his map up for you to see. The island is a tiny dot between New Jersey and the southern tip of Manhattan. You see, the location is perfect. You squint at the tiny island on the map and then look back up at the island itself. It's not very large. It doesn't have to be. The statue will stand there as a greeting, as a presentation there in the water, at the entrance to America's largest city.

She will not solve the problems of liberty. I'm not here to say she can. But she can inspire those feelings, those ideas, with a torch to light the path for others. You nod your head, trying to picture what this colossus might look like on that little island. But you can't quite see it. You have to admit, though, you admire Bartholdi's determination

to share his vision of America with Americans. Perhaps you think your country could use such a symbol. Bartholdi's idealistic view of American liberty met strong support on his visit, even as some questioned the commemoration of freedom in a society that, for many, still wasn't free. Just a year before Bartoldi's New York visit, the U.S. had passed the 15th Amendment, finally guaranteeing the right to vote for formerly enslaved African-American men.

But the advancement met fierce resistance from southern politicians and white militias like the Ku Klux Klan. And across America, women were still barred from the polls, and most Asian immigrants were blocked from becoming naturalized citizens. Still, the French sculptor found much to admire in a diverse and vibrant new land. And when he set his eyes on Bedloe's Island in New York Harbor, he was convinced that this was the spot for his ambitious monument. Bartoldi had also considered Central Park and Battery Park as potential locations, but Bedloe's Island, just 14 acres and easily visible to all ships entering the harbor, was to him perfect. It was currently home to an unused fort, and since the federal government already owned the

island, Bartoldi would not have to broker any private land sale. Just one month after his tour of New York Harbor, Bartoldi visited President Ulysses S. Grant at his Long Branch, New Jersey home. Grant had just enacted legislation to fight the Ku Klux Klan and enthusiastically embraced the idea of a monument to emancipation. He gave the French sculptor his blessing to go ahead and use Bedloe's Island as the site for his statue. Bartholdi hurried back to Paris with the best possible stamp of approval he could have hoped for. Now all he needed to do was begin raising money. But Bartholdi returned to a country devastated by war. France had just lost an expensive war with Prussia, and now the government was out of money.

Bartholdi's hopes for public funding were dashed, making the completion of the statue by 1876 unlikely. After his visit to the U.S., Bartholdi also shifted the theme behind his statue. Rather than celebrating the emancipation of slaves during the Civil War, the statue would fully embrace a broader concept, one of liberty. For fundraising purposes, it was important to have the broadest possible appeal, he thought. With this in mind, Bartoldi began to finalize his vision for how the statue would look. Drawing on inspiration from the massive sculptures of the Middle East, the statue would stand around 150ing on inspiration from the massive sculptures of the Middle East, the statue would stand around 150 feet tall. She would retain her robe and torch from his previous sketches, and initially she held a large, visibly broken chain in her hands,

as if she'd broken free from captivity. But this chain was moved down to her ankle and replaced with a tablet inscribed with the date of July 4, 1776. In the summer of 1875, Bartoldi took his model to Edouard Le Boulier and his associates and pitched them his plan. Together, they formed a fundraising committee called the Franco-American Union. The French people would be asked to raise money for the statue's construction, approximately $250,000, or $4.8 million in today's money. But that would only fund the statue itself. She still needed a proper place to stand, a towering pedestal to match her grandeur.

It would be up to the Americans to raise the money for that. Bartoldi and Le Boulier's Franco-American Union began issuing pamphlets and circulars to drum up support and raise money. On November 6, 1875, the Hotel de Louvre had an elegant banquet at which Bartholdi revealed the final model for his statue. An enthusiastic audience of 200 people erupted in applause. With its title, Liberty Enlightening the World, and its tablet commemorating the date of American independence, the statue now served as a symbol of the world and its tablet commemorating the date of American independence,

the statue now served as a symbol of the French and American collaboration during the American Revolution and of the Frenchmen who had risked their lives for the American cause. That night, Bartholdi raised 40,000 francs towards construction, about the equivalent of half a million of today's dollars. But it was just a start. He needed 400,000 francs and many more of his countrymen of today's dollars. But it was just a start. He needed 400,000 francs and many more of his countrymen to pitch in support. Still, momentum was swinging in his favor

and his vision was coming together. Now began the true test, figuring out how to construct his colossal statue and how to ship it across 3,500 miles of ocean. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail? We defend and we fight just like you'd want your own children defended. Whether you're facing a drug charge, caught up on a murder rap, accused of committing

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In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse, and behind his facade of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into

desperation, and Robert's determination to succeed turns into a willingness to do anything to get ahead. Follow Business Movers wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Auguste Bartholdi knew he would never get his ambitious Liberty statue finished in time for America's centennial celebration. So he focused his energy on building the statue's most striking portion, the enormous hand and torch that would become the beacon for his colossus. It would act as a bold advertisement, a teaser for what was to come. With support from Edouard de Labollier and fundraising from the Franco-American Union,

Bartholdi hired a local copper foundry near the Parc Monceau on Rue de Chazelle. The industrial workshop run by Emile Gaze and J. G. Gautier soon became a bustling hive of activity. Gaze and Gautier oversaw the construction of the copper plating, the skin that would cover the statue. Each piece of plating would be hand-hammered into a shape that could be grafted onto an armature traveling up inside the statue. But before work could begin, the statue needed a template, a roadmap that the craftsmen and sculptors could follow. Because Bartoldi wanted the hand and torch done first, in time for the American centennial in Philadelphia the following year,

the entire 151-foot statue had to be mapped out and measured to scale. Workers began by taking Bartoldi's four-foot-tall terracotta model and reproducing another model four times larger. This process was repeated, multiplying by roughly a factor of four each time. Painstaking measurements were taken, and each section—the arm, the foot, the tablet— was scaled up and built separately to be attached at a later point.

And once the workers had their measurements, they built plaster models to scale with timber and wooden slats, and used these to determine the size and shapes of the hundreds of individual sections of copper sheeting. By 1876, the workshop had completed the right hand and torch of Bartholdi's Liberty Statue and sent them on their voyage to Philadelphia. Arriving at the end of September, the partial statue barely made it in time for the last of the centennial celebration. But once installed on the exhibition grounds at Fairmont Park, the hand and torch were a sensation with the crowds.

For a 50-cent fee, anyone could climb a ladder to the Torch's balcony and take a look around from nearly three stories high. After the Centennial Exhibition closed down, the Hand and Torch were moved to Madison Square Park in New York City, where they would stay for six years, a clever piece of advertising on Bartoldi's part. And he would need all the advertising he could get. The American press didn't know what to make of the sculpture, or the rest of the body that might follow. Newspapers published humorous illustrations of New York longshoremen dragging the giant appendage along the docks. The New York Times even speculated that work on the statue in Paris

had been completely suspended due to lack of funds. But this was not the case. By the next year, 250,000 francs had been raised by the French people in very small denominations, but more than half of what Bartholdi needed to complete the entire statue. And in 1878, with the encouragement of the new American president Rutherford B. Hayes, Bartholdi and his Parisian copper foundry completed the head and shoulders of the Liberty statue. This portion of the sculpture was immediately put on display at that year's Paris Universal Exposition. Spectators and the press greeted it with enthusiasm.

However, one reporter noted that Liberty's expression looked too somber, writing, Casting a far-looking, level glance from its deep-set eyes, it has a strangely troubled expression, as though it bore the entire burden of responsibility. So now Bartoldi's Liberty Statue had an arm, a torch, a head and shoulders. And over the next three years, the rest of the statue began to take shape in Gaget and Gautier's workshop. Ever the publicist, Bartoldi began charging curious visitors a fee so they could watch the statue come to life in the high-ceilinged warehouse. Around the same time,

following the death of the project's chief engineer, a Parisian bridge designer named Gustave Eiffel stepped in. He was 48 years old and still several years away from the famous tower that would bear his name. But his brilliance was already being put to the task. He had to solve a key problem, how to design the Statue of Liberty's inner structural integrity. When completed and placed atop her pedestal, the figure would stand more than 300 feet tall amid the blustery winds of New York's busy harbor. She needed a structure that could keep her stable and bear the weight of her massive frame. Eiffel's solution was to design an interior tower of steel that would travel up the middle of the statue. This tower would help her bear the pressure of 31 tons of hand-hammered copper sheets, but also be flexible enough to sway and breathe in the New York Harbor wind. Eiffel didn't know

it yet, but his design would become instrumental in the construction of skyscrapers soon to dominate American cities. But back in France, in the courtyard behind the workshop, Eiffel's tower began to grow as sheets of copper were riveted to the statue's armature.

By 1884, Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty was completely built. Equal in height to a 15-story building, she towered over the six-story apartments nearby. In the neighborhood, she was often lovingly referred to as the Lady of the Park. Her skin was still a coppery red color,

not yet the oxidized green it would become. And her structure of iron truss and copper sheeting was described by American Architectural Magazine as an industrial tour de force for the 1880s. Still, finances proved to be the largest challenge. America had agreed to pay for the construction of the Statue of Liberty's pedestal. At around $120,000, over $3 million in today's money, the sticker shock was too much for some, especially with the U.S. in the midst of a prolonged recession.

A New York Times editorial protested that no true patriot can countenance any such expenditure for bronze females in the present state of our finances. To which Bartholdi lightly suggested that, if New York didn't want the statue, he could move it to Philadelphia. But this was all bluster. New York Harbor was the only place for his Liberty Statue to go. And just as the Franco-American Union had raised money in France, homegrown fundraising groups sprang up in the United States. By far the most successful was in New York,

where young canvassers, including a 19-year-old Theodore Roosevelt, knocked on doors all over the well-moneyed Upper East Side soliciting donations. Another effort involved fundraising of a different type, a poem commissioned by the Pedicel Committee, a poem that would change the very meaning of the statue. Imagine it's May, 1883, a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Lower Manhattan. It's the kind of spring day in the city that takes people by surprise when everyone abandons their plans and dashes out into the squares to walk in the sunshine. Everyone except for you.

The grandfather clock strikes 1 p.m. You sigh and stare down again at the blank page in front of you. You can't go anywhere because you have a deadline. Your sister Agnes comes bounding down the stairs into the front room. She's holding a parasol and wearing a wide bustle skirt, ready to see and be seen. Come on, let's get going. Monty is having a group over to the gallery and I don't want to go by myself. You have to come with me. You glance up at her with irritation. Your sister stops, seeing the balls of paper crumpled up in the wastebasket. Oh, don't tell me you haven't written it yet. I'm not a delicatessen. I can't just write to order. This commission is defeating me. I don't know why I ever said yes.

Your sister's tone softens and she takes a seat on the settee beside your writing desk. You said yes because you have a soft spot for the less fortunate of our city. That may be, but how does a statue help them? Look, God forbid a poem. Both seem so ineffectual, a waving flag, not an actual solution. You scoot your chair back in frustration. The sun outside your window is beckoning ever brighter. Well, maybe you don't need to have a solution. Maybe you just need to have sympathy. Like the piece you wrote about the Russian immigrants at Ward's Island.

You consider your sister's idea for a moment. Well, I suppose the theme could be greeting. When visitors come, you greet them in sympathy. You welcome them. You give them shelter. Yeah, that's good. Because when they arrive, these refugees from other countries, isn't the statue supposed to be the first thing they see?

Think about that. What a wonderful image. You nod. Yes, like a modern-day Colossus. You dip your pen in the inkwell and touch the pen's nib to your paper. As you write, your mind begins to churn, forming one word after another. A mighty woman with a torch.

Her name, Mother of Exiles, from her beacon hand glows worldwide welcome. And after what feels like just a few moments, you look up from the page. Fourteen lines have appeared. There are more than a few scratch-outs and words you'll have to change, but the poem isn't awful. You dip your pen again and write the poem's title at the top

of the page. The New Colossus. And just then, you realize your sister Agnes is nowhere to be found. You smile to yourself, stand up, and get ready to join her outside in the sun. Emma Lazarus, a young Jewish-American poet, was asked by a friend on the pedestal committee to write a poem. Lazarus at first replied that she did not write poems to order. Then she remembered a recent visit she had made to a group of Russian-Jewish refugees who escaped from the Tsar's genocidal pogroms. Lazarus began to reflect

on the experience of fleeing one's country into the arms of another and what this statue might symbolize to the freshly arrived immigrants. The poem she wrote was a sonnet called The New Colossus, which was read at a fundraiser for the statue's pedestal. It ended with these lines, Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door. But it would be another twenty years before those words would become synonymous with the Statue of Liberty.

On July 4, 1884, Auguste Bartholdi and a rapturous crowd gathered in the courtyard of Gaget and Gautier's workshop to present his Statue of Liberty to the American ambassador to France. Members of the press climbed into the statue's torch through an opening in the foot. The following spring, the statue was disassembled into over 200 crates and shipped across the Atlantic, passing through a tumultuous storm that almost capsized the French Navy transport mid-voyage. But by the time she had arrived at Bedloe's Island, it appeared as if she never might be reassembled at all. During her voyage, the pedestal committee announced that they were still $100,000 short. There was no choice. On March 13, 1885, the committee announced that work upon the pedestal at Bedloe's Island was suspended due to lack of funds. When the statue arrived at Bedloe's Island, the scores of crates containing its many pieces were unloaded and

unceremoniously left at the dock. So close to the finish line, this was an agonizing setback for Bartholdi and everyone involved in the statue's fabrication. A project of more than 10 years had ground to a shuddering halt. It had taken French ingenuity to build the Statue of Liberty and deliver it to America. Now it would take American ingenuity to save it. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today.

The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror. So when we look in the mirror, the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities. From the host and producer of American History Tellers and History Daily comes the new podcast, The Real History of Dracula. We'll reveal how author Bram Stoker raided ancient folklore, exploited Victorian fears around sex, science, and religion, and how even today we remain enthralled to his strange creatures of the night. You can binge all episodes of The Real History of Dracula exclusively with Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered

that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024.

Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. After 14 years of planning and construction, Auguste Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty now found itself without a foundation. When its 150-foot copper sculpture sailed to New York from France in the spring of 1885,

the American pedestal that was supposed to await her had still not been constructed. Back in 1882, architect Richard Morris Hunt had been commissioned to design the pedestal, which would stand as tall as the statue itself. Hunt was six years older than Bartholdi, a man used to getting his own way. But he immediately found himself butting heads with the French sculptor. The two squabbled over the pedestal's design through a series of drawings fired back and forth across the Atlantic. In a letter from that time, Bartholdi described Hunt as a man too pleased with himself. Nevertheless, the two men finally hammered out an agreement.

The pedestal would build upon the existing ten-sided star shape of the old military fort on Bedloe's Island. But by the time the Statue of Liberty docked in New York Harbor, only 70 feet of the 154-foot pedestal had been constructed. There was no money left for the project to be completed. Into this dilemma stepped newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer. He'd been anticipating the construction of the Liberty Statute for some time and was aghast that the American public hadn't lived up to its half of the bargain. Pulitzer hired a fundraising team to canvas the streets of New York, asking for two pennies here, five cents there.

Anyone who donated would get their names printed in the world newspaper, no matter how small their contribution. And by August 1885, Pulitzer's efforts raised $100,000. His newspaper triumphantly declared, The honorable rich, as well as the poorest of the poor, from all ages, all sexes, all classes, joined in common spirit for a common cause. With funds secured, in the summer of 1886, the Statue of Liberty's reassembly and construction on Bedloe's Island would finally begin. Imagine it's late September 1886. You're an Italian laborer who's been working on the construction of the Statue of Liberty. You're one of the last remaining from the first crew that started work back in the summer.

As the weather got colder and the job got closer to being finished, many of your fellow workers left for other jobs. But one of the newest members of the crew is your young cousin, Emilio, taking the stairs just in front of you. Come on, don't drag your feet, old man. Emilio's voice echoes against the walls of copper sheeting. Walls that you helped install. 300 individual sections, 1,500 saddles, 300,000 copper rivets, piece by piece, section by section. No need to rush, Emilio. That's how accidents happen. But your cousin is

too excited. He's still green. He thinks that he'll get more respect if he pretends not to be afraid. But he doesn't know that no one's listening to him and that everyone in some way is afraid up here. I said careful, Emilio. Wind plays tricks this high up. The two of you emerge where the statue's head should be. In its place are steel girders that will get copper plates grafted onto them. Below you, other workers dangle here and there across the statue's body. They're on wooden seats suspended by ropes and pulley systems, just like the one you and Emilio now step into. Almost 300 feet in the air, no scaffolding,

just the two of you on a thin platform, rocking in the wind. Hand me a hammer. Today, you're working on a section of the shoulder near the neck, affixing the rivets from the outside. I thought we'd be able to see more of the city from here. There's a lot of fog today. The weather is dense and foreboding. Below you is nothing but white mist curling around the top of the statue's chest. But there's no time to think about that. Don't worry about the view, just give me the hammer.

Soon, you've finished hammering in a line of rivets, connecting a copper plate to the inner structure. You reach your hand out for some more rivets. But as Amelia leans towards you, a gust of wind buffets your platform, rocking it sharply. Whoa, whoa. Your cousin wheels his arms back and grabs onto the rope. You grab hold, too. Careful, you okay? Emilio nods, his face as white as a sheet.

The bucket, the bucket fell. You follow his terrified gaze down into the mist, where the bucket and rivets vanished. You make the sign of the cross and count yourself lucky that you and your cousin didn't follow them. Workers assembling the massive statue often faced dangerous conditions. They worked without scaffolding, using ropes and pulleys, much like modern window washers. Most of these workers were recent immigrants to New York, and they played a critical final role in putting the pieces together. One workman named Francis Longo paid with his life when a wall fell on him. Thankfully, he would be the only known casualty of the construction of

the Statue of Liberty. Over three months, the statue rose into the air bit by bit. Once Richard Hunt's pedestal was completed, work began on Gustav Eiffel's iron tower support structure. Then workers put together the pieces of steel armature sprouting from it. Finally, they secured the pieces of copper sheeting, bringing them up with steam cranes and derricks. Near the end of the statue's construction, a visiting reporter was invited to climb inside as high as he dared go. He traveled up through a maze of thin metal staircases climb inside as high as he dared go. He traveled up through a maze of thin metal staircases, rising as high as the torch. Stepping hesitantly out onto the balcony, he described what he saw.

No such glorious view of New York Bay was ever obtained before. The air was clear and there was no limit upon the human sight except human frailty. Great ships looked like sloops, schooners like sailboats, men like moving sticks. Reporter also noticed that the Liberty's arm swayed quite alarmingly under his feet, even when the breeze wasn't very strong. A nearby worker who was putting finishing touches on the torch joked that the arm might not stay intact for long. On October 28, 1886, in a drizzling rain, the completed Statue of Liberty was finally unveiled to the world. Twenty thousand New Yorkers paraded down Broadway. Six hundred dignitaries were ferried out to Bedloe Island, now rechristened Liberty Island. Only two women were invited to come to the unveiling, one of them Bartoldi's wife. The noise of scores of boats and steamers

was deafening. Overseeing it all was, of course, Auguste Bartoldi. Fifteen years after he first sailed through the narrows of New York Harbor, his colossal statue, Liberty Enlightening the World, was finished. Sadly, his old friend Édouard de la Boullée, the Statue of Liberty's early promoter, was not there to see it. He had died in 1879 at the age of 72. At the time of the unveiling, even the skeptical American press excitedly devoted page after page to the statue. They gushed that it was a feat of imagination, of design and engineering, and was also a demonstration of international collaboration. A 305-foot-tall colossus that stood watch over the seafaring traffic heading into New York Harbor.

A symbol of a hundred-year-old country beginning its second century. During the unveiling, the New York State Women's Suffrage Association chartered their own boat and sailed out to protest the largely male-only event. In a written statement, the group observed, By erecting a Statue of Liberty embodied as a woman in a land where no woman has political liberty, men have shown a delightful inconsistency which excites the wonder and admiration of the opposite sex. And a few days later, the Cleveland Gazette, a black newspaper, also fiercely criticized the hypocrisy of a nation still struggling to live up to its promises of liberty and equality for all. Their editors wrote,

Shove the Bartoldi statue torch and all into the ocean until the liberty of this country is such as to make it possible for an industrious and inoffensive colored man in the South. The idea of the liberty of this country enlightening the world is ridiculous in the extreme. In 1892, nearby Ellis Island would become New York's main immigrant processing center. For arriving European immigrants, the Statue of Liberty was the first visual symbol of their new homeland. Bartoldi didn't have immigration in mind when he designed his statue, but now it became a symbol of hope for millions coming to America to escape the oppression and poverty they faced in their native lands. In 1903, Emma Lazarus's

sonnet, The New Colossus, was inscribed on a plaque and attached to the pedestal. The poet did not live to see her verses become synonymous with the Statue of Liberty. She died of an illness the year after the statue was unveiled. That same year, Auguste Bartholdi would also pass away in France after succumbing to tuberculosis. As for the statue itself, the wind and rain and weather of New York Harbor gradually turned her copper color to the familiar pale green we know today. In her early years, she served as a functioning lighthouse, with a power station lighting up her torch. It was President Teddy Roosevelt, who once canvassed for donations for the statue's pedestal,

that decommissioned her lighthouse functions in 1901. But to this day, the Statue of Liberty still stands upon Liberty Island. And after 135 years, it remains a wonder to behold. A feat of collaborative engineering, a modern-day colossus, and a symbol of the lofty ideals America aspires to represent. From Wondery, this is episode one of America's Monuments from American History Tellers. On our next episode, for centuries, sailors and merchants dreamed of finding a passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans across Central

America, but none existed. In 1904, the U.S. resolved to create one, seeking not just to build a canal, but to establish the nation as a formidable international power in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by George Ducker, edited by Dorian Marina. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marsha Louis,

created by Hernán López for Wondery. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reach the age of 10 that would still a virgin. It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones and for almost two years I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and

girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it, people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn Trials, I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify.