When you touch down at PHL, you’re landing on a patch of land that once housed the world’s biggest shipyard and (possibly) birthed the hoagie.
Let’s rewind back to a headline from this date’s Evening Public Ledger in 1918: “Raise American Flag at Hog Island Yard”
1918 was a big year for a spot along the Delaware River called Hog Island, located just downstream from where the Schuylkill and Delaware Rivers converge right below the eventual spot for today’s stadium complex in South Philadelphia.
The marshy island spanning several hundred acres had been there since before 1681, which was when a Swedish immigrant purchased the island from the native Lenape people. And over the course of the next century or so, settlers converted the marsh into farmable acreage.
At some point, this outpost acquired the name “Hog Island.” I haven’t seen a definitive explanation for this name, but wiki says it’s a reference to pigs that once roamed free on this agrarian land.
By the end of the 1800s, that agrarian era was ending. Hog Island’s owners allowed a company to dump dredging byproducts on the island. And by the time America joined World War I, Hog Island was stuck somewhere between its farming past and its industrial future.
That future soon arrived — in earnest. Now at war, the United States needed to dramatically expand its naval capacity. In the summer of 1917, the federal government contracted a company to hurriedly turn Hog Island into a shipyard.
At a cost of $66 million, the project was a mess. It overran its original budget by about $30 million and spawned multiple corruption probes. On the date of our headline, Philadelphians were learning more about the death of four workers crushed by a trestle.
But for all its troubles, the Hog Island shipyard still inspired awe. Upon its completion in the spring of 1918, the complex had 70 miles of rail, 12 dining establishments, and 35,000 employees. It was essentially a small city. And it was literally the world’s largest shipyard.
The people who worked at Hog Island became known as “hoggies.” There’s a long-standing theory that the word “hoagie” traces its origins to sandwiches eaten by these “hoggies.” It’s not the most likely etymological story, but it’s at least plausible.
In December of 1918, the Hog Island shipyard produced its first vessel. One problem: World War I had ended the prior month. Despite the massive investment, Hog Island’s future looked cloudy.
The shipyard survived for another few years, ultimately producing about 120 ships. In 1921, the world’s largest shipyard closed, a short run given the investment poured into the property.
The company running the shipyard tried to spin it as a success story. Its president told the Inquirer that news clippings about the shipyard terrified the Germans — to the point that they surrendered. I’ve not seen other evidence corroborating those claims.
Brief as its tenure was, the shipyard left its mark on the landscape. As part of its wartime transformation, Hog Island had taken on more than 500,000 cubic yards of fill. And eventually, as various rounds of fill accumulated, Hog Island ceased to be an island at all.
Philadelphia later bought the rotting property for $3 million. And they made this purchase with an eye on the city’s transportation future. After adding 3 million more cubic yards of fill, officials combined Hog Island with 600 acres purchased from neighboring Tinicum township.
The combined properties became Philadelphia Municipal Airport (later known as Philadelphia International). Today, Hog Island’s shipping past lies buried under a maze of landing strips and food courts.
There is a little dead-end stretch near the airport called “Hog Island Road.” But the history of the island has largely been erased by decades of development.
From wild marsh to farmland to shipyard to skyway, Hog Island’s story feels like a version of Philadelphia’s story. And it makes you think: What will the next 350 years bring for this unassuming stretch of urban fringe?
Originally posted by Avi Wolfman-Arent (@Avi_WA) on Feb. 22, 2024.
