In the early 1920s, Philadelphia’s mayor W. Freeland Kendrick emerged as a key advocate for holding a World’s Fair to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the United States’ founding.
Kendrick, known for his savvy understanding of media and publicity, envisioned the event as a means to elevate Philadelphia’s status on the global stage.
Author Thomas Keels notes that Kendrick was not only politically ambitious but saw the fair as a stepping stone to higher political office, particularly eyeing the governor’s mansion in Harrisburg.
With a background that included hosting a successful centennial celebration for the nation’s 100th birthday in 1876 — which attracted nearly 12 million people — Philadelphia seemed poised for another grand celebration.
The idea for the fair gained traction back in 1916, thanks to John Wanamaker, a prominent Philadelphia department store owner, who passionately suggested the city host a second World’s Fair, serving as its guiding light until his death in 1922.
However, the landscape began to change due to various factors, including the aftermath of World War I and a lingering postwar recession that had cast a shadow over the nation’s economy.
It wasn’t until 1924 that the prosperity that would come to define the decade as “The Roaring Twenties” began to emerge.
Additionally, concerns about the influence of U.S. Rep. William S. Vare loomed large, as he was perceived to be wielding significant control over city government and the fair planning process.
Keels explains that Vare’s influence compromised the original intent of the fair, swaying Kendrick to move the exhibition site from the more prestigious Fairmount Park to the less desirable swamps of South Philadelphia, where Vare’s constituents lived.
This shift caused a rift within the community as residents began to see the fair as a product of political machinations under Boss Vare.
As the fair’s opening approached, the situation only grew more complicated. Kendrick, who had formerly led the Shriners, decided to invite the organization to hold their national convention in conjunction with the fair, despite many areas remaining unfinished.
Keels describes this decision as a desperate move. Kendrick believed the Shriners would bring much-needed pageantry and substantial crowds to the event, with an estimated 200,000 attendees expected from their congregation alone.
However, reality proved unkind. Over the opening days, the Shriners experienced what they deemed a lackluster event, leading them to leave with negative impressions that they shared nationwide, further damaging the fair’s reputation.
Consequently, the Sesquicentennial struggled as it launched, unable to recover from this public relations disaster.
The fair also faced a significant blow when President Calvin Coolidge, invited to participate in its opening and closing ceremonies, opted to keep his distance.
Coolidge’s administration sought to distance itself from the scandals that plagued his predecessor, Warren G. Harding, which included the infamous Teapot Dome scandal.
When Coolidge made a brief appearance on July 5th, after the fair had already launched the previous day, he chose to avoid participation on July 4th, a Sunday that many Philadelphians criticized for opening the fair on the Sabbath.
His visit, lasting just a few hours, involved a quick tour and a speech before he swiftly departed to attend an unrelated event, further embodying his effort to remain at arm’s length from what was perceived as a politically tainted venture.
This presidential snub compounded the funding challenges facing the fair.
Expectations for federal financial support were high, with planners hoping for $20 million in funding.
Instead, Congress only approved a mere $3 million, which was not passed until March of 1926 — less than three months before the fair’s scheduled opening.
On the day the exposition finally opened, it greeted guests with heavy rain. Initial attendance proved dismal, with fewer than 250 visitors entering the gates within the first hour.
The first individual through the gates, Jacob J. Henderson, had fond memories of the earlier Centennial and was determined to not miss the occasion.
Dubbed the Rainbow City, the fairgrounds featured buildings made from stucco painted in pastel hues, glowing under colored lights at night.
A grand replica of the Liberty Bell marked the entrance at Oregon Plaza — an 80-foot and 40-ton structure adorned with 26,000 light bulbs.
After the fair concluded, the Bell’s components were sold for merely $60, with its structure demolished in 1927.
A massive stadium, indeed a marvel at the time, had been constructed on South Broad Street and served various purposes throughout the fair, including hosting a speech by Coolidge as well as the first heavyweight boxing championship match between Gene Tunney and Jack Dempsey.
Post-fair, the stadium was known as Municipal Stadium, later renamed JFK Stadium in honor of President John F. Kennedy.
It became a notable venue for sports and performances, hosting events like Live Aid in 1985 before its demolition in 1992.
Overall, the fair experienced a dramatically lower turnout than projected, ultimately drawing about 5 million visitors, just half of the Centennial’s audience.
With rain dominating 107 of its 184 days, the Sesquicentennial was branded as “America’s Greatest Flop” by Variety, leading to millions in financial losses that persisted into August 1926.
By 1927, the exposition could no longer cover its debts and was forced into receivership, resulting in the liquidation of its assets at auction.
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