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One reporter at the fair observed: "Only selected parts of the buildings glow.... The solid architectural structure of the daytime is set aside for an immaterial structure of light. It is not the intention that the Fair by night shall be the same Fair that was seen by day. After dark it is changed into a lightscape." Nowhere was this clearer than at the center of the World of Tomorrow, where there stood stark white modernist versions of a spire and a dome: the 61o-foot-high, three-sided obelisk called the Trylon and the 180-foot-diameter sphere built of steel and cement stucco called the Perisphere. The sphere's eight supporting steel columns were masked by a ring of fountains, so that from a distance it appeared to be floating on water. The severity of the daytime architecture turned magical in the dark: "As night fell, the globe was bathed in colored lights—first amber, then deep red, and finally an intense blue—on which were superimposed moving white lights (filtered through mica) in irregular patterns." The results, one historian attests, "bore an uncanny resemblance to the views of Earth which would be taken from Apollo spacecraft some thirty years later."

Throughout the grounds, white fluorescent tubes—encircling the midsections of tall flagpoles, cinching them like a belt—lit pathways. Colored fluorescent lights backlit murals, illuminated signs, and highlighted walls. Whether concealed, recessed, or ghosting structural details, they created sleek, striking effects:

Even the drabbest and most monochromatic of buildings sprang to life under the influence of creative lighting techniques. By day, the only touch of color that relieved the honest metallic finish of the U.S. Steel dome was the minimal application of blue paint to the external ribs that acted as its structural supports. But by night the ribs glowed a bright azure that the shiny steel surface reflected and the entire dome gleamed with a cool radiance.... One of the most spectacular applications was the design of the Petroleum Building, a triangular-plan structure featuring fins of corrugated steel ascending its outer surface in four concave strips. Behind each strip a trough containing blue fluorescent tubes produced indirect illumination that made the building's horizontal segments seem to float independently in space.

The use of fluorescent light in such spectacular ways helped make illumination at the fair a great success, but it didn't settle the questions marketers at General Electric had concerning them. Would people be persuaded to adopt them for the ordinary light of their homes? Fluorescent lights buzzed. They flickered and hummed. There was a delay when you turned them on. They grew dimmer and less efficient over time. Although they eventually gave more light for less cost, above and beyond the special requirements for their installation, they were more expensive to purchase. And they were cold: they cast a white light unbecoming to faces and surroundings.

The General Electric advertising campaigns for fluorescent lights emphasized their utility, suggesting how and where to place the bulbs, especially in kitchens—over sinks, stoves, and countertops—to most effectively illuminate tasks and reduce fatigue for the eyes. One ad announced: "It's easy to see into pots and pans. Easy to measure ingredients. Easy to see whether dishes are clean." And what success fluorescent lights had in homes was largely functional. Beyond kitchens, they illuminated bathrooms and work areas in cellars, but few found their way into living rooms and bedrooms.

Still, fluorescent light offered an efficient, economical way to illuminate the large interiors of offices, factories, and department stores, and in the years after the New York World's Fair, they became ubiquitous above assembly lines, in cubicles and doctors' offices, on manufacturing floors, and in warehouses. They even inspired the construction of some window-less factories. Colored fluorescents lit theaters and restaurants and were