Examining a photo from the middle-of-the-night deed, you expect to spot beer cans.
The gang of 20-somethings had just hoisted Lady Liberty onto her perch atop an old railroad pier in the middle of the Susquehanna River.
Yet no beers were cracked until later.
View full sizeGene Stilp led a group onto the Susquehanna River in 1986 to hoist Lady Liberty atop an old railroad pier.“We were 32 feet in the air, and it was pitch black, and we had to be very careful,” says Gene Stilp, the ringleader of what seemed more stunt than enduring act of patriotism.
Now Stilp is marking the 25th anniversary of the statue, located on a stretch of river just north of Harrisburg.
He arranged a commemorative stamp cancellation and a commemorative coin, and he’s conducting a contest for a song about the statue.
“Of all the replicas across America, it’s one of the larger ones,” says Stilp, 61, who’s also inclined to think it occupies the best location.
Stilp got the idea in 1986, during the run-up to the 100th birthday of the real Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.
He built it out of plywood and old venetian blinds in a friend’s garage in Harrisburg.
Hoisting the 450-pound object onto the pier, without drawing attention from authorities, was bound to be a tricky and potentially deadly feat.
It involved about a dozen people. Stilp says it wasn’t hard to recruit them.
“I’d say, ‘Come on over to the garage. I have something to show you. I need people who can keep a secret, and who have the skills to do this,’” he says.
On July 1, 1986, just after dinner time, they towed the statue through Harrisburg on a boat trailer. Stilp was surprised it didn’t arouse much curiosity.
It was still light when they assembled along the Susquehanna. They loaded the statue on the biggest jon boat they could get.
As darkness fell they paddled out into the river — two boats and two canoes.
They had set out from a spot about a half-mile upstream from the target, so they could reach the middle of the river and then make a controlled, precise approach.
Steve Oliphant was the “safety coordinator.”
“I was concerned about taking a bunch of knuckleheads with a 450-pound statue out into the Dauphin Narrows. It can get dangerous out there,” says Oliphant, 60, the owner of Susquehanna Outfitters on City Island.
Some members of the group had tree climbing experience and supervised the ropes. About six people went up top.
“I used to fly hot air balloons, so I loved heights,” Stilp says.
Still, they understood they had to be extremely careful. The pier top, while measuring 30 feet the long way, was less than nine feet wide.
They muscled the statue upward on ropes. Down below, a pair of passing canoeists noticed the activity and joined in.
Up top, a big challenge involved raising the statue upright and centering it without anyone falling backwards off the pier.
Finally, they switched on the blinking construction hazard light Stilp had rigged inside the statue.
It was after midnight when they headed someplace for pizza, beer and a vow of secrecy.
Morning dawned foggy. But as the fog lifted, people commuting to work began glimpsing a startling sight. Some pulled over, causing traffic problems.
Stilp and his wife, Judy Richard, returned to the scene. “We just sat there on the river bank and watched the chaos,” he says.
People called radio stations, which initially suspected a hoax.
At first, Oliphant had no idea what public reaction to expect. He was elated when he realized people embraced it, and recognized “it was not just a prank, it was an expression of love for our country.”
Stilp’s identity became known after a few weeks.
He had originally planned to remove it by Labor Day, but it stood for six years until it was damaged by a severe wind storm in 1992.
Over the next few years, Stilp raised money and donated materials toward a new and better statue. This one, made of wood, metal and fiberglass, stands about eight feet taller, and weighs four tons.
A helicopter lowered it into place in 1997.
Stilp sought no permission for the first one. They second required “every permit in the world.”
Stilp, who lives in Dauphin County, is trained as a lawyer but says he makes his living as a consultant, often on environmental issues.
Despite the prominence of the statue, he’s best known for political stunts such as his giant inflatable pig, which he first used to protest Pennsylvania lawmakers’ middle-of-the-night pay raise in 2005.
Stilp, who recently ran for the state House as a Democrat, says he prefers to be recognized for his role as a watchdog on politicians of all parties, and for more low-key efforts such as his persistent legal actions aimed at openness and accountability in government.
The biggest long-term threat to Lady Liberty, he says, is crumbling of the old pier, completed in 1859 and unused since 1882.
Many of its stones have tumbled into the river since placement of the second statue. Stilp estimates a repair job will cost $100,000.
A little known fact is that Stilp built the second statue so that it can be equipped with solar-powered lights.
“She was actually going to the ‘Solar Statue of Liberty’,” he says.
Stilp decided not to activate the lights out of fear a distracted driver would have a serious accident.
But he points out he could have them operating within a few hours.
He also notes the real Statue of Liberty’s 125th anniversary this year.
“Maybe that would be the time to use it,” he says.