In 1915, San Francisco did something extraordinary. Just nine years after the 1906 earthquake leveled much of the city, residents didn't wallow in bureaucratic rebuilding committees or spend a decade on environmental impact reports. They built the Panama Pacific International Exposition — a sprawling, jaw-dropping world's fair in what is now the Marina District — and at its center stood the Tower of Jewels, a 435-foot structure draped in over 100,000 hand-cut glass gems that shimmered under early electric spotlights.

Let that sink in. Nine years from near-total devastation to hosting the world.

The Tower of Jewels wasn't just architecture — it was a statement. San Francisco was back, it was magnificent, and it wasn't asking anyone's permission. The entire exposition stretched across what we now know as the Marina, filled with grand pavilions and ornate halls that made today's mixed-use condo developments look like shoe boxes with balconies.

As one local put it bluntly: "Architecture back then was on another level, honestly." Hard to argue. Another SF resident lamented, "It's a shame they tore most of that stuff down." Indeed — nearly all of it was demolished after the fair closed, deemed temporary from the start. The lone survivor is the Palace of Fine Arts, which still stands as a ghostly reminder of what the rest of the neighborhood once looked like.

Here's what stings about looking at photos of the Tower of Jewels illuminated at night: it's not just nostalgia. It's a mirror. A city that rebuilt itself in under a decade now takes longer than that to approve a single housing project. We used to build audacious, beautiful things because civic pride demanded it and red tape didn't strangle it.

Nobody's saying we need to reconstruct the Tower of Jewels. But maybe — just maybe — we could borrow some of that 1915 energy: build something ambitious, build it beautifully, and for the love of God, build it before the next century.