The history of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool stretches back to the 1920s, an era when Washington, D.C. underwent sweeping transformation through ambitious construction projects, even as the United States grappled with political division, racial conflict, and tensions between religion and secularism. The debates over the pool's placement, the innovative engineering techniques employed during its construction, and the desire among its proponents for something both visually and metaphorically unifying stand in sharp contrast to the recent slapdash renovations, blame-shifting, and alleged abuses of power surrounding the iconic landmark.

Decades of Consensus-Building

In 1901, the U.S. Senate established the McMillan Commission, a body composed of architects, landscape designers, and artists, tasked with developing a parks system for the nation's capital. The commission's 1902 report also recommended a site for the future Lincoln Memorial. Although proposals for a memorial had surfaced shortly after Abraham Lincoln's assassination in 1865, decades of political disagreement over its design, location, and purpose had delayed construction.

The report proposed situating the memorial at the western end of the National Mall, near the Potomac River. Drawing inspiration from the waterways of Versailles and the reflecting basins of the Taj Mahal, the commission envisioned a reflecting pool linking the future memorial to the Washington Monument, allowing both structures to be mirrored in a vast expanse of water framed by manicured green lawns.

Over the following decade, the plans continued to generate debate and controversy, pitting supporters of the commission's vision against members of Congress, railroad interests, and real estate developers. The American Institute of Architects and the American Federation of Arts endorsed the report, arguing that the site's isolation from the city's bustle created a dignified space for reflection. They also pointed to the qualifications of the commission's artists and the economic viability of the location: the land was already owned by the federal government, meaning project funds could go toward the memorial itself rather than land acquisition.

Some House leaders, however, insisted the memorial be built on Capitol Hill, two miles to the east, arguing that Lincoln had preserved the Union and worked closely with Congress during the Civil War. Railroad interests pushed for a location near the soon-to-be-completed Union Station, a proposal backed by certain real estate developers. The National Highways Association even entered the fray, contending that the $2 million Congress had authorized for the memorial in 1911 would be better spent on a memorial highway named for Lincoln connecting Washington and Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

The Union Station plan drew ridicule in the Washington press and failed to secure congressional backing. When the proposal to replace the memorial with a highway came before Congress in 1912, the House of Representatives likewise rejected the idea — despite concerns that moneyed interests might prevail — and proceeded with plans for a traditional monument. Around the same period, plans were also advanced for Lee Highway, named for Confederate General Robert E. Lee, reflecting the era's ongoing debates over how Americans chose to memorialize the Civil War.

Engineering on a Swamp

With the riverside location for the monument settled, construction of the Lincoln Memorial began in 1914. Excavation of the basin for the reflecting pool commenced in 1920, two years before the memorial itself was completed.

Author J.W. Duffield, writing in 1922, compared the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool to the one in front of the Taj Mahal, calling it an "exhalation of a dream." He wrote: "It is in accord with the eternal fitness of things that these memorials to America's two greatest Presidents — Washington, under whom the nation came into being; Lincoln, by whose labors it was preserved and by whose blood it was hallowed — should stand in close proximity, as shrines to which posterity may pay pilgrimage and tribute."

The pool's construction faced significant obstacles. The area was swampland, meaning ground settling and drainage presented formidable engineering challenges. Engineer Charles A. Peters Jr., who worked on the pool, described some of the creative solutions in a 1923 article for the journal The Military Engineer. To address ground settling, Peters and his team developed flexible flooring lined with an impervious three-ply fabric. The drainage system was designed to empty the pool in under 24 hours without leaving puddles, employing a sloped basin and drainage network that allowed maintenance crews to empty the pool while preventing water from collecting in low spots.

Cold weather was another consideration. Engineers had to account for the stresses of freeze-thaw cycles, which can gradually damage waterproofing layers, crack concrete and masonry, and create leaks. The waterproofing proved effective, holding up for decades. In the pool's early years, members of the public were regularly seen ice skating on its frozen surface.

Dedication and Historical Context

On May 30, 1922, 50,000 people — including Robert Todd Lincoln, the late president's only surviving son — gathered on the National Mall for the unveiling of the monument. During the dedication ceremony, President Warren Harding declared Lincoln's accomplishments "so colossal that none will dispute that he was incomparably the greatest of our Presidents" due to "the greatness of his intellect, his honesty of purpose, and his kindness and gentleness." The ceremony was segregated, with Black attendees confined to a separate section — a detail that underscored how the era's pledges to national unity coexisted with institutionalized racial exclusion.

The same year the Lincoln Memorial was inaugurated, the tomb of Tutankhamun was discovered in Egypt, fueling broader fascination with ancient civilizations, monuments, and the ways societies preserved memories of powerful figures. The Egyptian pharaoh Menes appears first among the lawgivers represented in the interior frieze on the South Wall of the U.S. Supreme Court building, completed in 1935. These friezes reflected the aspirations of the nation's leaders to place America on the continuum of great civilizations.

Over the decades that followed, the reflecting pool became the backdrop for some of the most consequential gatherings in American civic life, most notably the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his "I Have a Dream" speech from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

From Lincoln to Trump

The deliberative, thoughtful process that characterized the remaking of the nation's capital in the early 20th century stands in stark contrast to President Donald Trump's approach to reshaping Washington in his own image.

After Trump announced his desire to change the color of the reflecting pool to what he calls "American flag blue," the National Park Service awarded a no-bid contract to Atlantic Industrial Coatings, a politically connected firm, to repair leaks and paint the pool. The agency signed another no-bid contract with Greenwater Services, a construction company whose owner had donated to Trump, to install a filtration system. No-bid contracts —procurement instruments awarded without competitive bidding— are typically reserved for emergencies or cases where only one source can realistically supply the needed goods or services, which has made their use here a point of scrutiny.

The rushed renovation that followed — and the ensuing dispute over whether the peeling liner resulted from vandalism — led to charges against four suspects that were eventually dropped.

The pool controversy came amid other attempts to alter the nation's capital, including plans for a new White House ballroom and a proposed monumental arch. In October 2025, Trump dismissed all six members of the U.S. Commission of Fine Arts in order to bypass the independent design review board. Established by Congress in 1910, the Commission of Fine Arts has for over a century advised on the aesthetics and siting of monuments, memorials, and public buildings in the capital, providing the kind of expert oversight that the McMillan Commission era helped institutionalize.

The 1920s were hardly devoid of partisanship, graft, and scandal. Yet unlike Trump's top-down approach, the process for building monuments and civic spaces during that era involved Congress, artists, architects, engineers, and city planners who debated, contributed their expertise, and responded to public input.

Jennifer Tucker is a Professor of History at Wesleyan University. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license.