By Gil Garcetti

Photographing the Audicious Workers Building LA’s New Landmark

It was early summer 2001. Looking up, I was driving by the construction site of the Walt Disney Concert Hall. I took a double take. I couldn’t quite believe what I saw. Yes, I thought to myself, there actually is a man crawling on his hands and knees on a very high arched beam a hundred feet above the ground. I pulled my car over to the curb and reached into my briefcase for my always–present camera. It wasn’t there.

The next day I returned fully prepared with two cameras, three lenses, and plenty of black and white film. I set up behind the Los Angeles Music Center across the street. I saw the same man who had been crawling on the beam the previous day being hoisted up near the top of the structure. I began taking photographs. He got out of the hoist and climbed a beam where he promptly began to tighten a bolt. He moved to another beam. He balanced himself precariously with one foot on a three–inch steel flange and the other foot on a small steel step. Holding onto the beam with one hand he inserted what looked like a one and one–half foot long tapered steel tool through some holes joining two beams. The tool did not go in very far. He took out a heavy sledgehammer, brought it behind his back and then swung it. A second or two later I heard a metal whacking sound that seemed to reverberate through the entire structure. He hit the tool three or four times before he was able to insert a large bolt and nut. I thought if I were swinging that sledgehammer even once from where the worker was positioned, I would be dead. I wouldn’t have had the physical strength to swing it with one hand and still maintain my balance.

For the next hour, I continued to photograph. I was fascinated by the geometry of the architecture and the daredevil ironworkers. Most were balanced perilously on steel beams, platforms, and cranes more than a hundred feet off the ground. But these men were not simply workers. They were legendary - they were ironworkers.

Darrell Cowles, the man I had originally seen crawling on a beam, is one of those ironworkers. He is a friendly, handsome, 36-year-old husband and father of a young girl. He works as a “connector” in the “raising gang.” His description makes it sound easy: “My partner and I are the first ones to touch the steel as the crane lowers it into place, and it is our job to connect the steel member to another steel member.” Every time I saw Darrell or his partner, Craig Castor, they were 80 to 120 feet off the ground, either working the steel member into place or trying to get the boltholes aligned. Although the workers wore safety straps, anyone could see that this was extremely demanding and dangerous work. A few days later I went to a darkroom and printed some of the images I had shot. I liked what I saw.

Jack Holt is the Secretary-Treasurer of Ironworkers Union Local 433. He answered my telephone call not with a “hello” but with, “Hi Gil, we’ll send you a thousand dollars.” When I told him I was not running for political office and that I was interested in photographing his ironworkers, he invited me to the construction site.

At the request of the union, I took a group photograph of the 130 ironworkers — 129 men and 1 woman — at the site. I then began to take individual and partner photographs of the ironworkers, and architectural photographs of the building. When I printed a photograph of an ironworker who could be identified, I would give him an 8” x 10” print. I was on the construction site several hours a week over an initial period of about three months. I wanted others to feel the awe I felt watching these workers. In late summer, I began to think my work might lend itself to a book. The Los Angeles Philharmonic staff encouraged me to contact Balcony Press about publishing it. I knew that when the building was completed, its architect, Frank Gehry, and his partners, would receive much deserved credit for designing such a stunning and successful concert hall. But I also knew the ironworkers, who made Frank Gehry’s concept a reality, would be forgotten. When the first concertgoers enter the hall, they will not see the bones, veins, muscle, and tissue that make up this building. They will not appreciate that the swooping, curved and angled walls, columns, skylights, and ceiling panels are there because, somehow, ironworkers were able to hang, bolt, and weld the steel that made this possible. They will not realize that each of the 12,500 pieces of primary steel, ranging in size from 13 inches to 110 feet, and weighing up to 165,000 pounds, is unique and individually created, shaped or angled for its respective architectural or structural purpose.

Whenever I was at the construction site, I would notice the number of people on the street looking at the building with awe, disbelief, admiration, and occasionally, dismissal. I talked with some of these people and invariably they would ask about the “wonderful,” “far out,” “extreme,” “crazy,” or “indecipherable” architecture. But they would also marvel about the ironworkers. “They’re incredible!” “How do they do it?” “What they’re doing is impossible!” “They’re crazy. Someone is going to get killed.” Ironworkers are passionate about their jobs and their union. As ironworkers, they believe they are special. Greg Knutson, the general contractor’s project superintendent agrees: “They have earned the pride they display. They are always the first ones on the project. They have the most dangerous jobs and they have done great work.” My respect for ironworkers increased when I learned about the role many of them were playing in the aftermath of 9-11. From all over the nation, ironworkers left their jobs to volunteer with the rescue efforts in New York City.

Contrary to their image, ironworkers are not just hulks. They must complete three years of community college level training to become a Journeyman Ironworker. For three years, the apprentice must attend school three hours a night, three nights a week, after they have finished their normal work shift. They are taught the basics of ironwork: structural steel, rebar, rigging, and welding. Having attended some of their classes and reviewed their workbooks, I was particularly impressed with the consistent emphasis on safety and teamwork. The apprentices are taught that everything they do is part of a collaborative effort. Ironworker brothers and sisters are expected to watch out for one another and no one works alone. Ironwork is our nation’s third most dangerous occupation. Amazingly, no one has been killed on this job site.

As this book goes to press, the geometric shapes and contours of the hung steel still create visual magic especially in the light and shadows of early morning and late afternoon. The ironworker, balancing himself high above the ground, constantly fighting gravity and the 30–60 pounds of tools and equipment he must carry, is no longer there. He is gone. He is working on another project.

For thirty–two years I was a member of the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office. During those thirty-two years, beginning with the birth of my daughter, I have been an active photographer. Urban photography has been my passion. This project relates to that discipline, but it also combines three other passions of mine: people, music, and architecture.

The Walt Disney Concert Hall will be a feast for your eyes, ears, and spirits. Whether or not you are one of the lucky people who will attend a performance, I hope this book will give you a deeper appreciation for this building. It is the result of the collaborative efforts of various individuals who have great dreams, commitment, stamina, and professional abilities. It started with the Board of Supervisors and the Music Center’s Board of Trustees. Then, from the architects to the general contractor, structural engineers, mechanical engineers, electrical engineers, acoustical consultants, theater consultants, landscape architects, and ultimately to the trades people who actually put the building together as you see it, these are the men and women who made this building possible. Perhaps these images will increase the awe and respect you have not just for the building, but also for the people who built it. If so, then this photographic project will indeed have been successful.