The City, As William Penn Sees It In City Hall And 40 Stories Up, A Bounty Of Beautiful Sights.

September 01, 1998|By Julie Stoiber, INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

Up here, just below the soles of William Penn's big, bronze, buckle shoes, there's a lively breeze, and Marta Nawalaniec, a bright-eyed student from Poland, giggles as she holds her gauzy skirt and straw hat in place.

``It's so much different than our town,'' she says, happily sizing up Philadelphia from the City Hall observation deck, a gusty, sun-washed perch 40 stories above Broad and Market Streets.

As she looks north, Broad Street seems to go on forever, a surprising sight for the 21-year-old, who makes a crisscross motion with her hands to describe the streetscape of Wroclaw, where she lives.

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Broad Street, she's just learned, is the longest, straightest street in urban America.

She picked up that bit of trivia, and countless others, on a guided tour of City Hall one recent afternoon. It is a building so heavy with history and artistry that tour guides talk themselves hoarse in its dark, imposing interior, and visitors from New Jersey to the Netherlands find themselves giddy with excitement when they finally see the breathtaking view from the top.

The tours, which are free, take off at 12:30 each weekday from the ground floor of the city's celebrated centerpiece and end up on the screened-in platform encircling the top of its tower.

Nawalaniec and her friend Marek Jiricek, of the Czech Republic, were in town for just a day and found themselves drawn to City Hall because ``it seemed to us to be so European.''

They happened upon the first-floor tour office and soon found themselves traipsing around in their sturdy hiking boots with visitors from Israel, Japan, South Africa, Albuquerque, N.M., and Koontz Lake, Ind. There were even a few Philadelphians in their group of 21.

One of them was Fredda Lippes, an architect for the city, who was red-faced over the fact that it had taken her 17 years to get around to the City Hall tour.

``It's terrible, just terrible,'' she said.

There was little time to lament as guide Greta Greenberger, with her noisy jangle of City Hall keys, whisked her group on its way.

The first stop was a shadowy portal in the north wing. ``We call it the crypt,'' Greenberger said, her followers blocking foot traffic as they paused to admire polished granite columns and craned their necks for a peek at Alexander Milne Calder's peoples-of-the-world sculptures.

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