A Pair of American Islands

Who cares about the Statue of Liberty? By modern high-rise standards, it is dinky, a dozen stories from head to toe. And by the standards of statuary, Lady Liberty is absurdly huge, unnecessarily literal, a giant trinket as vulgar as a sign on the Las Vegas strip. It is hardly an ancient monument. Except for Richard Morris Hunt's pedestal, the thing was not even Made in America. (Perfect protectionist irony: an imported patriotic icon.)

Who cares about the Statue of Liberty? Everyone, it seems, over the age of two from sea to shining sea. For whether the statue is too small or too big or too corny, it is by far the most American of all the country's patriotic shrines: unabashedly showy, technically impressive, evangelically democratic, & erected with private funds--and now privately restored as well, with $70 million from a quarter-billion-dollar treasury raised by a showy, impressive, all-American son of immigrants named Lee Iacocca.

Less than half a mile across the water is Ellis Island, a darker, more 20th century place. The same pot of cash is subsidizing the renovation of the historic island and the transformation of its main building into a multimedia immigration museum. "Some people say we should concentrate on Miss Liberty," says Iacocca, chairman of the private Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation, "and forget about Ellis Island, because the memories from there weren't too pleasant. They're wrong. We need both. This country was not built on hope alone. It took a lot of pain."

Anonymous pain vs. heroic pizazz, a crucible vs. a crowd pleaser. A low, labyrinthine, long-abandoned Government compound and a high, bright, popular symbol. The place where the undesirables among the huddled masses were culled out and sent packing; the monument that summarizes in one grand, gilded-age stroke a nation's noblest intentions. The two islands make a compelling yin- and-yankee pair. Alone, neither the Mother of Exiles nor the Island of Tears fairly represents the American story. But together, they tell something like the whole truth.

The five-year restoration has been difficult. Agendas and aesthetics clashed. The islands are U.S. property, administered by the National Park Service, but the restoration money was doled out by Iacocca's foundation. The islands also have, in this secular republic, almost religious status. Even if there had been a single guiding hand, almost every design decision was bound to displease somebody.

The technical challenges were also substantial and often without precedent. Who knew, for instance, how to remove built-up layers of paint and coal tar from the statue's delicate 100-year-old copper interior? The Lehrer-McGovern construction-management company has had to manage a considerable logistical feat: on Liberty Island alone, they coordinate the work of four different architectural and engineering firms, dozens of individual contractors and, during the 2 1/2 years of construction, some 500 craftsmen and hard-hat workers.