Rest in power: 7 lost buildings that still resonate in architecture and design

Despite its architectural significance, Penn Station fell victim to economic pressures and by 1955, the Pennsylvania Railroad was losing US$1.5 million annually. During the 1963 demolition, preservationists and architects scrambled to salvage what they could. 

Most of the pink granite and marble, including the majestic Doric columns, was unceremoniously dumped in the Secaucus marshlands of New Jersey, some elements found new homes: the eagle statues were preserved and relocated to various sites, including Penn Station Plaza and Cooper Union.

The building’s destruction ultimately led to the establishment of New York’s Landmarks Preservation Commission. While too late for Penn Station, this new protection helped save Grand Central Terminal from a similar fate just three years later.

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Inspired by Mesoamerican pyramids, the Imperial Hotel, completed in 1923 by Frank Lloyd Wright, showcased a blend of Mayan Revival style with Japanese design elements.

The complex was arranged around a central courtyard and reflecting pool in a distinctive H-shaped plan, with guest room wings flanking on either side. Whereas, the remarkable three-storey lobby combined reinforced concrete and brickwork with Ōya stone, a Japanese volcanic tuff rock in grey-green hues, which local craftsmen adorned with intricate Mayan-inspired patterns.

The central atrium featured balconied socialising areas, with light filtering through long, vertical windows offering views of the garden and city. The spaces were enhanced by hand-textured tiles and gold-accented ornamental glass while interlocking planes echoed traditional Japanese architecture.

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The hotel’s engineering proved exceptional during the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake. While much of Tokyo was devastated, the Imperial Hotel survived thanks to the shock-absorbing “floating” foundation, its reinforced steel-and-concrete structure and its use of electric power instead of natural gas. The entryway reflection pool also provided an emergency water supply to extinguish fires caused by the earthquake.

Despite that, the “Jewel of the Orient” was demolished after 1967 to make way for a modern high-rise. However, preservationists managed to salvage the iconic central lobby wing and reflecting pool, which were carefully disassembled and reconstructed at the open-air Meiji-Mura Museum near Nagoya.

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Designed by Spanish architect Miguel Fisac in 1967, the JORBA Laboratories building showcased modern-pop architecture along Madrid’s Barcelona road near M-30 leading towards Barajas Airport.

In response to the client’s request for attention-grabbing advertising visible to travellers, the complex consisted of two distinct volumes: a longitudinal storage warehouse featuring Fisac’s signature “bone beams,” and an office tower. Known affectionately as “The Pagoda,” the tower featured a dynamic form achieved by rotating each floor 45 degrees relative to the one below, creating hyperbolic paraboloid surfaces between floors.

This ingenious geometry was achieved through strip-formwork and in-situ concrete, creating a sculptural façade that transformed with changing sunlight. Eight metal pillars provided structural support, while glass rectangles contrasted with the textured concrete skin.

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Despite its popularity among local residents, the building fell into disuse in the 1990s. When the LAR Group purchased it for office conversion, they encountered insurmountable challenges with new fire safety regulations. 

Moreover, attempts to preserve the building faced repeated rejection from the city council, and proposals to add it to Madrid’s Heritage Commission’s protection catalogue were unsuccessful, despite its technical build and symbolic value.

In 1999, taking advantage of Madrid’s quiet summer season, the mere 32-year-old architecture was demolished almost secretly. Unlike other architectural losses that led to preservation movements, no elements of La Pagoda were saved, making its destruction a complete loss to Spain’s architectural heritage.

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The World Trade Center in New York City’s Lower Manhattan once stood as one of the most recognisable architectural landmarks in history, rivalling icons like the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. 

Designed by Japanese-American architect Minoru Yamasaki and completed in 1973, the Twin Towers represented the pinnacle of modernist architecture, blending Gothic and Islamic influences into its narrow 18-inch windows and aluminium-alloy façades; a structural design that eliminated the need for interior columns, hence creating vast, open office spaces.

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Rising to 1,368 and 1,362 feet respectively, the North and South Towers briefly held the title of world’s tallest buildings, with a massive superblock with a five-acre plaza featuring sculptural art and public spaces. 

Meanwhile, below ground, an innovative slurry wall system protected the foundation from Hudson River water infiltration, while up top, sky lobbies revolutionised vertical transportation in skyscrapers.

The complex, which welcomed 500,000 workers and 80,000 visitors daily, tragically became the target of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, leading to its destruction. 

In the aftermath, recovery efforts focused on preserving historical elements and distributing architectural fragments and steel beams to museums and memorials worldwide. 

The site opened exactly 10 years after the attacks as Ground Zero. Within the original towers’ footprints now stand an ambitious redevelopment project that includes the One World Trade Center designed by David Childs of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill. The project also features the 9/11 Memorial Pools and the Transportation Hub known as The Oculus, designed by Santiago Calatrava–a ribbed, cathedral-like structure that filters light and shadow evoking a bird taking flight.

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Upon its completion in 1975, the Prentice Women’s Hospital in Chicago set a new standard for healthcare architecture, with its distinctive “four-leaf clover” structure that merged Brutalist aesthetics with humanist planning and Metabolist influences.

Designed by Bertrand Goldberg, the design approach utilised computer software from the aeronautics industry to create a unique cantilevered structural system that eliminated the need for exterior columns–a solution that predated Frank Gehry’s famous implementation by some 20 years.

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The tower’s distinctive design wasn’t merely aesthetic; its quatrefoil floor plan created intimate patient communities on each level, with all rooms positioned equidistant from central nursing stations for optimal care efficiency. 

The lower rectangular base, on the other hand, housed surgical suites, laboratories, and support facilities, designed with flexibility to accommodate evolving medical technologies.

However, the building faced demolition in 2013, when Northwestern University cited the structure’s inability to meet modern biomedical research requirements, proceeding with its removal despite preservation efforts from prominent figures in the field, including dozens of leading architects and critics, such as architect Jeanne Gang and New York Times architecture critic Michael Kimmelman.

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Completed in 1972 in East London’s Poplar district, Robin Hood Gardens was a Brutalist social housing complex designed by architects Alison and Peter Smithson, who established themselves as leaders in post-war architecture.

Informed by, and a response against, Le Corbusier's Unité d’Habitation in Marseille, France, the complex was built with panels of precast concrete, housing 213 apartments in its two curved buildings rising to seven and ten storeys high.

Embracing a central garden with a distinctive man-made hill created from construction debris, the complex was celebrated for its ingenious “streets in the sky” concept, featuring wide elevated walkways on every third floor, designed as social spaces where residents could interact and children could play.

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The apartments themselves were also thoughtfully crafted, with bedrooms facing inward to shield from traffic noise, and included both single-storey flats and two-storey maisonettes.

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Robin Hood Gardens faced criticism and eventual demolition in 2017. Critics also pointed to structural issues, maintenance neglect, and security concerns around the elevated walkways, which, unlike actual streets, lacked regular foot traffic and created blind spots. 

Additionally, the exposed concrete also weathered poorly over time, and the complex’s inward-facing design isolated it from its surroundings.

Recognising its architectural importance, the Victoria and Albert Museum salvaged a three-storey section of the estate–including one of the iconic elevated walkways and original interior fittings–ensuring this bold experiment in social housing continues to inform architectural discourse.

The Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo’s Ginza district was the world’s first capsule architecture designed for permanent use by Kisho Kurokawa, one of the pioneers of the Metabolist Movement.

Completed in 1972, the innovative Japanese Metabolism architecture featured 140 prefabricated capsules attached to two concrete towers using only four high-tension bolts each, enabling individual units to be theoretically replaced without affecting the others.

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Measuring a mere 4 x 2.5 metres, each pod was a self-contained living space meant for travelling businessmen, with built-in appliances, a bathroom, and a distinctive circular window. 

This exemplified the Metabolist Movement’s vision of adaptable, growing architecture that reflected the dynamic nature of cities–an idea that first surfaced in 1960 at the World Design Conference.

Over time, the building faced maintenance challenges. No capsules were replaced during its lifetime, and after 33 years without proper upkeep, it suffered drainage issues and damaged water pipes. Ultimately, in 2022, Nakagin was demolished due to structural concerns and asbestos presence, despite international efforts to preserve it as an architectural landmark.

However, preservation efforts partially succeeded through the Nakagin Capsule Tower Building Preservation and Regeneration Project, which saved 23 capsules before demolition. 

So far, 16 of these historic units found new homes in various institutions, including the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and the Wakayama Prefectural Museum of Modern Art, with five of them restored in a capsule village at the coast in Kanagawa Prefecture, south of Tokyo.

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