I'm Nick Mendez, a recently graduated Northeastern journalism student, a writer, photographer, podcaster and blogger. Take Witness is a collection of my work from Boston to Seattle, Cairo, Guatemala, Damascus and Doha.

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Wednesday
27Jan2010

« vacant and gutted, boston's highest office space listlessly watches over massachusetts bay »

The John Hancock Tower is the tallest in all of New England, an austere 60-story behemoth of solid glass. It dwarfs next door Trinity Church, made more shadowy and ominous by its proximity to the Hancock, its method to the heavens symbolically deemed obsolete.

Pride and all, the Hancock's been rejected by its architect, shed its skin all over the taxpayers and made them vomit. The top floor observation desk was closed after September 11th, and remains closed citing safety concerns. Worries cast aside for catered, private functions.

Plenty of business still gets done inside the Hancock, but it's not immune to a bad market. Many of the upper floors are silent, gutted and resting. The office space is meticulously clean and polished, like new cars in a showroom. Pump masquerading as elegance, or maybe the reverse.

Elevators refuse to go to floors 39, 40, 58, 59 and at least half a dozen others. Much of the space above the cloud-line has been vacant for more than a year, and while co-owner Normandy Real Estate just announced a leasing deal with Baystate Financial, that was down on the 19th floor.

Up here, you get what you pay for. Normandy and a capital group called Five Mile bought the Hancock for $660 million at a foreclosure auction in early 2009. That was dirt cheap, a confident investment in the inevitable recovery in real estate.

But times are still tough, so the halls remain empty. The soft hum of air conditioning the only accompaniment to an unparalleled view of the Massachusetts Bay. In July, you might be able to see the New Hampshire state line. 

 

Like smoke in the dark, the Hancock nebulously floats on the skyline, while the foundation of the metropolitan real estate market burns underneath. It reminds me of the electric ladies of Doha, all hastily erected trophies of some boom or another. 

Back then I dismissed them as characterless husks with exaggerated cultural significance. Now my mistake is clear: I never bothered to go inside. 

//Could be worse, they could be principal investors in the newspaper business.

 

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