New Yorkers heading out of town to escape summer's stifling heat have a tantalizing new getaway at John F. Kennedy International Airport—one that, preposterously enough, remains firmly planted on New York soil. There, amidst the chaos of perpetual construction and the madding crowds, lies the newly opened TWA Hotel, an exquisitely appointed, 512-room revelation—appended to a Mid Century masterwork, ravishingly restored and refurbished—that's equal parts exhilarating journey into a glamorous past and glorious refuge from an inelegant present.
It's been a long time coming. Eero Saarinen's exalted TWA Flight Center, a breathtaking composition of soaring ceilings and dramatic curves, and one of the great built works of the 20th Century, opened to rapturous reviews in 1962 (a year after Saarinen's untimely death at 51), its technological splendor capturing the zeitgeist of the jet age and the irresistible romance of air travel. Its wide open, glass-fronted interior, all jaw-dropping volumes and dynamic forms, signaled the seemingly endless possibilities that lay ahead for the remaining half of the 20th Century.But what lay ahead, it turned out, was the rapid evolution of air travel for which the terminal, created for the largest carriers of the day, was not prepared. Bigger planes and hoards of travelers rendered the TWA Flight Center obsolete within a few decades of its opening, its glory days a thing of the past, in tandem with its namesake, Trans World Airlines, now speeding towards financial decline.
Closed to the general public since 2001—the same year TWA filed for bankruptcy—Saarinen's masterpiece was finally listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2005, mercifully escaping demolition, but sitting mostly dormant for the next 15 years, no longer an airline hub, yet impossible to envision as anything else. The plan by the Port Authority of New York to turn the building into a hotel could easily have gone wrong. Airport hotels are, by definition, forgettable—generic, necessary evils en route to (or from) memorable places—and what sort of indignities, one had to wonder, would be placed upon this architectural gem, in the name of room service?
“New York now has a hotel capable of seducing travelers into lingering in the borough of Queens, before moving on towards Manhattan’s famous skyline.”
But a superb collaboration involving three New York design firms—Beyer Blinder Belle Architects, who oversaw the historic renovation; Lubrano Ciavarra Architects, who designed the adjoining hotel rooms; and Stonehill Taylor, the interior design lead—have given New York City a minor miracle, something approximating a transcendent experience at a crucial American moment; a space capable of vaulting us from stultifying present to electrifying past, from a despairing national mood to an age of unbridled optimism. New York, a global destination, now has a hotel beguiling enough to be a destination itself, fully capable of seducing weary travelers into lingering for a night or two in the borough of Queens, before moving on towards Manhattan's famous skyline.
Beyer Blinder Belle deserve the bulk of the credit for undertaking a massive historic restoration project, which included the removal of unsightly additions (and no small amount of asbestos), repairing structural damage, updating safety elements, and, ultimately, giving Saarinen's visionary achievement shiny new life. A cursory look at vintage photos shows the structure's gorgeous interior to be virtually unchanged, an airy atrium of platforms and swooping staircases, offering views from above and below, and in every direction. The original Sunken Lounge, surely the world's grooviest conversation pit, remains the building's epicenter, a show-stopper with built-in seating newly reupholstered and swathed in the same vivid red hue of the carpeting underfoot, all the better to show off the pure white pedestal silhouettes of—what else?—Saarinen Side Tables by Knoll.
The 512 guest rooms are not, in fact, located in the historic structure, but divided between two wings that flank the main attraction, accessed via the original red carpeted tunnels that once led passengers to their gates—an ingenious idea that affords many rooms unparalleled floor-to-ceiling views of Saarinen's building. Other rooms have views of the runway, sans the noise, thanks to uncommonly thick, sound-proof glass. Interior design by Stonehill Taylor is clean and legible, with a color scheme of black, white, and red: bespoke dark wood, crisp white linens, classic black rotary phone (yes it works), and a splash of red provided—fittingly enough—by the unmistakable form of a Knoll Saarinen Womb Chair.
Meticulously researched period details—mirrored martini bar, vintage Life magazines; fridge stocked with TaB diet soda; Nancy Sinatra wafting through the lobby—could have turned the TWA Hotel into a time capsule of no particular relevance, save its value as an awe-inspiring relic of the past. But it's a measure of Saarinen's genius—and the clarity with which his greatest building has been restored and revived—that stepping into this Mid Century emblem feels less like a nostalgic rewind than a present-day gift. A gift from a Finnish-born architect who, more than half a century ago, left us with a timeless reminder of what American greatness looks like.
