It was an art deco masterpiece—a "fairy city" of white towers and neon lights. But as soon as the fair ended, the treasure chest slammed shut. The Navy took over the island, using it as a naval station for 50 years.
The only treasure left on this island is the lesson it teaches us about hubris, climate reality, and the high cost of building paradise on borrowed land. Are you planning to move to Treasure Island, or are you a former resident with a story to share? Contact our editorial team at [email protected].
Here is the definitive look at why everyone is suddenly talking about the island that was built for a World’s Fair. To understand why Treasure Island is being slammed today, you have to understand its fragile origins. Built in 1936-1937 using 287,000 cubic yards of bay dredge and quarry rock, the island was created to host the Golden Gate International Exposition of 1939.
Today, the phrase isn't about pirates. It is the headline dominating local news, city council meetings, and environmental impact reports. From housing policies and toxic waste to climate change and luxury development, Treasure Island is being "slammed"—criticized, battered, and reshaped—from all sides.
For the city of San Francisco, Treasure Island is a cautionary tale. It asks the question: Just because we can build something, should we?
Protestors have repeatedly slammed Treasure Island’s leadership at public hearings. They argue the island is becoming a "gated fortress for tech millionaires" while the homeless crisis rages two miles away in downtown San Francisco.
For centuries, the very name "Treasure Island" has conjured images of swashbuckling adventure, buried chests, and uncharted maps. But in the 21st century, a different kind of drama is unfolding on the real-world Treasure Island, a 400-acre man-made island in the heart of San Francisco Bay.
During the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, the island suffered significant soil liquefaction, cracking roads and tilting buildings. The new plan fortifies the ground with 1,300 stone columns driven 60 feet into the bay floor.
It was an art deco masterpiece—a "fairy city" of white towers and neon lights. But as soon as the fair ended, the treasure chest slammed shut. The Navy took over the island, using it as a naval station for 50 years.
The only treasure left on this island is the lesson it teaches us about hubris, climate reality, and the high cost of building paradise on borrowed land. Are you planning to move to Treasure Island, or are you a former resident with a story to share? Contact our editorial team at [email protected].
Here is the definitive look at why everyone is suddenly talking about the island that was built for a World’s Fair. To understand why Treasure Island is being slammed today, you have to understand its fragile origins. Built in 1936-1937 using 287,000 cubic yards of bay dredge and quarry rock, the island was created to host the Golden Gate International Exposition of 1939.
Today, the phrase isn't about pirates. It is the headline dominating local news, city council meetings, and environmental impact reports. From housing policies and toxic waste to climate change and luxury development, Treasure Island is being "slammed"—criticized, battered, and reshaped—from all sides.
For the city of San Francisco, Treasure Island is a cautionary tale. It asks the question: Just because we can build something, should we?
Protestors have repeatedly slammed Treasure Island’s leadership at public hearings. They argue the island is becoming a "gated fortress for tech millionaires" while the homeless crisis rages two miles away in downtown San Francisco.
For centuries, the very name "Treasure Island" has conjured images of swashbuckling adventure, buried chests, and uncharted maps. But in the 21st century, a different kind of drama is unfolding on the real-world Treasure Island, a 400-acre man-made island in the heart of San Francisco Bay.
During the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake, the island suffered significant soil liquefaction, cracking roads and tilting buildings. The new plan fortifies the ground with 1,300 stone columns driven 60 feet into the bay floor.