In 1947, rising star of modernist design Oscar Niemeyer boarded a flight from Rio de Janeiro to New York, New York. A multinational symposium of renowned architects met to discuss the development of a complex for the advancement of human rights, development, and cooperation. Niemeyer’s specialty of modernist international style was widely seen as the ideal architectural form for such a fresh, new complex. Upon arrival, the strange absence of Walter Gropius and Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe was glaringly obvious. The two progenitors of the Bauhaus movement that influenced this new internationalism, along with De Stijl and the works of Le Corbusier, were excluded for having German heritage. The irony was not lost on the younger Carioca, as the Bauhaus school they directed was shut down by the Gestapo in 1933, having been condemned as “Un-German” and “degenerate art”.

Gropius and Van der Rohe had fled the growing authoritarian pressure for the United States in 1934 and ‘37 respectively, while Le Corbusier made a calculated and opportunistic relocation from Paris to the resort town of Vichy, the seat of the irredeemable collaborationist French Puppet Regime. Corbusier’s effort to pitch his modern designs to the staunchly anti-modern authoritarians in Marshal Pétain’s treasonous administration was not well-received, so he bitterly awaited the opportunity to rebuild his native France as well as the rest of war-torn Europe. When the time came to build the headquarters for a new intergovernmental organization, he felt insulted when he was not asked to design the project single-handedly, but was merely asked to participate on a board of consultants, submitting designs that would compete with those from 10 of his contemporaries.
Niemeyer had scarcely unpacked his bags when Corbusier requested an urgent private meeting between the two. When Niemeyer was starting out, he had been greatly influenced by the Frenchman’s work, so he felt honored at the opportunity. But to his great surprise, Corbusier felt so threatened that he requested Niemeyer not to submit a design at all, but instead assist him on his own submission. Niemeyer, starstruck by one of his greatest heroes, bowed to the pressure, and declined to attend the design committee’s future meetings. The director of the committee, the American Wallace Harrison, noticed Niemeyer’s hesitation and insisted that he put forward a design, despite Corbusier’s objection. The plan he finally proposed, project 32 out of 45, was voted on and selected to be the winning submission, much to Corbusier’s chagrin.

Niemeyer’s proposal included three principal buildings: a domineering skyscraper, a domed assembly hall, and a library. Perhaps the most unique element was a ground-breaking development from what would become Arrow Dynamics, a nascent amusement ride manufacturer operating out of Mountain View, California. While Arrow would not develop its first steel corkscrew rollercoaster for nearly 30 years, Niemeyer had gotten word of an early prototype and insisted that such a ride be included in and around his planned complex. He figured that global diplomatic heavyweights deserved access to a worthy diversion, and he would be the one to provide it for them.
While the vote for Niemeyer’s idea had been nearly unanimous, he found one persistent detractor in Le Corbusier. Corbusier lobbied heavily against project 32, and against the corkscrew roller coaster in particular, calling it “ridiculous”, and “inelegant”. Only after months of bickering did Director Harrison call for a compromise, blending Niemeyer’s project 32 with Corbusier’s project 23, with the roller coaster being removed from the final plan. Arrow’s ambitious team of engineers faced a significant setback, and the resulting rollercoaster-less design is what exists in New York City today.

In this plot, we can see what could have been: project 32 as Oscar Niemeyer had originally intended it. I hope you like it. Thank you.