The Driskill Hotel

Driskill Hotel NW Corner of East 6th and Brazos Streets

In the Southwest, there are many under appreciated and nearly forgotten architectural structures from the last quarter of the nineteenth century. We move in and out of their walls never really wondering what the original intent was or caring to know who walked their floors. Dry goods stores, cattle feeds and brothels repurposed today as quaint restaurants, bars and boutique shops. Someone might remind us. We need to be reminded to wonder what it was like back then to stand in a building or who we might have talked to. But one building which has remained, hanging on to its original intent, is The Driskill Hotel. There is a familiarity I can't define. It isn’t the furnishings, the marble columns or the stained glass domes. The walls almost breathe the same air.

In the bar where I began to imbibe several pints of Guinness

In 1884, a wealthy cattle baron named Jesse Driskill purchased a plot of land for $7,500 in Austin, Texas. He was successful before, an honorary Confederate Colonel during the Civil War now rich from trading livestock, he tried his luck as a hotelier. He hired the architect Jasper Preston to build a high-style Richard Romanesque hotel. Many people thought he was mad. His plans were lavish and extravagant. But no one could deter him. The hotel on Sixth Street opened to the public on December 20, 1886. The structure cost Driskill $400,000, an enormous sum in those days. Christened The Driskill Hotel, it was called one of the finest hotels in the country. Merely a year later, Colonel Driskill began to have trouble. His livelihood was threatened by a nation-wide drought. At the turn of 1888, an exceptionally cold winter settled in and killed over 3,000 of his cattle. Driskill watched his fortune disappear. Desperate, he played his hand at a high-stakes poker game and placed the hotel on the table.

Driskill lost.

Three years later, he passed away.

It is said that since he was not able to enjoy his hotel in life, he does so in death. He makes his presence known. Cigar smoke fills guests’ rooms and bathroom lights flicker. The doors to the elevators open and no one steps out.

Colonel Driskill isn’t the only one to roam within the walls of the hotel. There have been several suicide deaths in the rooms by jilted brides. One can be seen wandering the halls in her wedding gown. A four-year old girl who tragically died skips down the steps bouncing her ball, and a resident of the hotel from 1886-1916 checks his pocket watch.

Though I didn’t see anything the night I was there, I couldn’t help but think of Jesse Driskill. The concierge told me that some guests have called the front desk to say they awoke in the middle of the night. Something was trying to push them out of bed.

Top image from Austin's Public Library; the remainder from my phone using the Hipstamatic app. I was certain I was consciously standing to get dead-on center shots. It was either the Guinnesses or Colonel Driskill who leaned me sideways.

Yeeeeee-Haaaaawwwwwwwwwww..........

Darren Hoff & The Hard Times playing in the background

Architect Barbie:: helpful or harmful?

About a foot high and made of synthetic materials that smelled like expensive plastic, Barbie made her debut on March 9, 1959. Back then, Barbie was a teenage fashion model. But over the decades, she quickly climbed the corporate ladder. Her résumé includes stints as an astronaut, ballerina, babysitter, surgeon and doctor. She then decided to become an aerobics instructor, art teacher, race car driver, paleontologist, firefighter, the guest editor of a fashion magazine, and, yes, a cashier at McDonald's.

But this time, Barbie somehow squeezed in five years of architecture school, took an internship and passed her ARE (Architectural Registration Exam), and made her debut as an architect. She wears a hard hat now and carries a set of construction documents. But she is also wearing a sporty cropped black jacket, a trendy dress, hipster glasses and unflattering ankle boots.

Heels may be fine for the office, but not on the job site. It’s a little tricky traipsing through mud and concrete or balancing on steel beams. Mattel seemed to forget to show her with a rounded back from 80 hours a week hunched over a drafting table and a claw for a hand gripping the mouse doing endless CAD edits. And really, her belly should be pouched and flabby from hours of sitting and eating a bad diet; her face pale and corpse-like from lack of exercise; her lips chewed to a frazzle from the pressures of deadlines. Her hair should show two months of root growth. She’s so busy she couldn’t get to the salon. Her accessories need include a Starbucks grande latte with a double shot of espresso, chased by a few slugs of Pepto-Bismol, and a prescription of anti-anxiety pills in her desk drawer.

Architect: Mary Rockwell Hook (1877-1978)

Mary Rockwell Hook once described a troubling time in her early years when she was studying at the École des Beaux-Arts. After class, she had to run as fast as she could to a taxi as she dodged buckets of water being thrown at her by disgruntled male students. She was the only girl in her class, and the second American female to attend after Julia Morgan. The year was 1906.

This hostile gender bias wasn’t anything new. Previously, she studied at the Art Institute of Chicago, the only female in her class she experienced similar behavior. Some parents thought that young men could not learn to their full potential with a young woman present. Many parents wanted their money spent on a solid education for their sons. The fairer sex was much too distracting, it was thought. This theory still holds true today by some parents. But a more prevalent theory was that architecture was a male domain and considered no place for a lady.

The house she designed for her parents. 1908. It was the first home in the area to have a built-in garage. The city didn't know what to do with this. It conflicted with regulations, so she had to put in a fire-proof steel garage door which still exists today. The house originally had outdoor porches which have since been enclosed.

Upon Mary Rockwell Hook’s return back to the United States, she applied for a job with an architecture firm. They turned her down because of the simple fact that she was a female, and they didn’t want to watch her climb all over life-sized models. But MRH was not intimidated. She was driven and had the support of her family behind her. Another architecture firm did accept her, but her father did not like the idea of Mary working for a salary. Aware of her well-trained solid skills, he commissioned her to design their family home in Kansas City. It was here where she launched a prolific career as one of Kansas City’s most innovative architects and became a pioneer among professional women.

One of my favorites. I went to a small school in this area and when I had to around the hilly neighborhood for soccer or field hockey practice, I used to admire it.

She did have a number of things in her favor. Born on September 8, 1877 in Junction City, Kansas, she was the third of five daughters, (sandwiched between Florence, Bertha, then Catherine and Emily). Her parents insisted on the highest standards of education. She graduated from Wellesley in 1900 and her father’s successful business in banking and grain elevator business allowed for Mary to travel widely.

I’m partial to her houses. Mrs. Blandings introduced MRH a number of months ago, of course presenting the story of MRH very well. I am attracted to MRH’s designs for her open floor plans mixed with a little bit of the unpredictable. Although her designs are asymmetrical, there is something incredibly harmonious and balanced about them. Older houses in Missouri have always possessed a quirky twist. Mid-western architects provided their own interpretations on East coast designs with a dash of European idiosyncrasy. MRH did just that. But each one of her homes has a well thought-out spatial plan with interesting, unique appointments.

I am of the belief that a woman is -- if living with the opposite gender -- truly the head honcho of the home. She is the one, no matter how progressive the relationship is, who is ultimately responsible for a well-ordered home. Therefore, it makes sense to me that she would have invaluable insight of the structure, the circulation patterns, storage space and light. No one knows the flow of the house better than the one who is responsible for maintaining it.

The house she designed for herself where she lived with her husband who she wed at the wise age of 44.

Many types of female birds are in charge of the construction of the nest. She is the one who decides the location. She has her chicks to think about. She knows that she needs to build her nest on a sturdy branch. She knows she needs protection from the weather and from predators. She delegates to the male about gathering twine and twig of all sizes. It is the mother bird who stays behind to manage construction and place every piece with astounding accuracy.

So, I applaud Mary Rockwell Hook. She is one of Kansas City's pioneer mother birds. She was one of the country’s first architects, and formed an architectural partnership with Eric Douglas Macwilliam Remington. She worked throughout the United States – from Colorado to a sandy key off the coast of Florida. She was the first to use cast-in-place concrete walls. Many of her aeries can be seen in the Sunset Hills around Loose Park. MRH used recycled materials such as a slate roof from an old church, and thick beams from abandoned railroad bridges. She liked to juxtapose the rough with the elegant. She combined stone and brick with tall broad windows conscious of bringing the outdoors inside. She wasn’t afraid of much and took risks. She even was known to construct small platforms or stages in various rooms throughout houses for an occasional and impromptu piece of theatre. I think in her own words Mary Rockwell Hook describes her work best, "Houses should be fun".

Mary died on her birthday 101 years after her birth.

My apologies featuring the houses from afar. All photos by me from my camera as a lurker on the streets.

Architecture: Is There An Ethos?

High-profile architects are creating innovative design and sustainable strategies which are changing the ways US cities look and operate. Last month I went to a lecture given by Moshe Safdie at the downtown library. 350 people filled the main hall to hear him speak about The Kauffman Center – a performing arts center he is creating in Kansas City.

"Beauty connotes humanity. We call a natural object beautiful because we see that its form expresses fitness, the perfect fulfillment of function." Safdie said quoting the morphologist Theodore Andrea Cook who uttered these words in 1917. The term "beauty" does not mean pretty, but an expression of fitness. "Fitness for Purpose," was the slogan for many modern architects early in the 20th century. Beauty is a form generated by growth -- a nautilus shell, spider wed, a changing tree throughout the seasons. Design gets closer to fitness as we get closer to beauty, Safdie pointed out.

For the Kauffman Center, Safdie's aim was to associate the building with music. His concept is based on the violin. The lobby will have cabled structures that will be anchored to the auditorium and conjure feelings of a stringed instrument. The back of the structure will swing in slight rotation, Safdie said, and provide a sense of musical progression.

The following day, I attended a meeting at JE Dunn, the construction company, and got to see the models of the structures. What an incredible program he has planned for us. And it is in the midst of construction scheduled to open in the Spring of 2009.

Before attending, I did a little research on his other structures. Safdie has an incredible way of marrying his buildings with the landscape. Browse his site, you'll see. Below is the new addition to the Peabody Essex Museum.

“Let the building be its defined purpose.” Safdie stated in the lecture. He believes design should be rooted to a place. Architects should consider the relationship of the site to the form of the building. It is the job of the architect to question whether the building belongs to its site in a way that is unique to that place. His works relate to the surrounding environment, weather playing off the land or in some instances incorporated part of the land with the structure. He relates the scale of his creations to the surrounding structures.

But Mr Safdie also designed this structure. And I think it is an eye-sore.

What the hell happened here?

The West Edge, it is called. 203,000 square feet of office space, a 103-room boutique hotel, a restaurant, an Advertising Icon Museum, a 300-seat auditorium and retail shops. There will also be and underground parking for 920 cars. I have to look at this thing every day. I read somewhere that this monstrosity was developed in response to the surrounding neighborhood. On the left is an apartment building which is very much in harmony with all the other buildings on the Plaza.

Safdie’s exterior panels are sparkly. And it casts a shadow over one of my favorite watering holes. Presently, the initial construction company has walked off the job. The building has been left hollow with a security guard puttering about shooing away any vandals or people interested in making a temporary home for themselves. A second construction company has been hired to finish structure. I am not sure when they will finish. Is there an ethos to architecture? If "ethos" is defined as the fundamental character or spirit of a culture, then I am frightened by this physical manifestation. Am I missing something here?

Photos taken from Kauffman Performing Arts Center website, Architecture Weekly, The Kansas City Star, and my overpriced, not that great cell phone.

And Even More Space....

Remember the 1980s and the stock market boom?

Remember the 1990s and the triumph of the techno moguls, venture capitalists and the dot com industry?

Image from angel group network

Have you sat through an episode of The Real Housewives on Bravo TV?

All that new money floating around. What to do with it?

Spend it lavishly, of course. Just like the robber barons did in the 1890s. Only with a new twist. As flashy as they were, the robber barons at least had the sense to hire well trained architects. They knew how to create impressive houses. Unfortunately, today’s very new rich know only how to create McMansions. At least hire an architect and an interior designer who can give expression to the dream of tasteful imperial grandeur. These houses look tacky, without any really discernible taste or style.

The very new rich wanted better houses than what they grew up in. Never mind that the size of the average new home grew almost 50% in the last 30 years while the size of the average family diminished.

Bigger was still better even when there was no point in building bigger. 5,000 square feet simply didn’t cut it. It was too small. There were just too many new gadgets to buy. Almost overnight, these appliances took up more space. There were numerous cars all needing their own garages. The new wealthy people simply had to have room in their houses to store all the electronic stuff.

At the same time, developers were keen on finding ways to generate “character” in these generic looking houses. Something really eye-grabbing. Something really ostentatious.

So they tried a little bit of everything that represented a borrowing of the past to satisfy the cravings of the future: Neo-eclectism -- Neo-French, Neo-Tudor, Neo-Colonial, Neo-Mediterranean, Neo-Mission, Neo-Victorian, Neo-classical Revival. A collision of architectural styles that have been further watered down and reinterpreted.

Brick or stone veneers were used to cover up cheap materials. After all, people driving by only looked at the front of the house. People mostly drive by to obtain a quick impression. There are no porches. How old fashioned! Porches mean that people can’t afford air conditioning. In the old days, fathers and grandfathers of the very newly rich sat on their porches to escape the heat and visit with their neighbors.

Where is the front walkway?

Nobody does that anymore. And why should anyone create a space between the privacy of the house and the public street that might function as an invitation? Don’t even think of putting in a sidewalk, we are a car culture; people making their way through the neighborhood on foot are immediately suspect.

Hello? Is anyone even home?

Two story entryways, numerous car garages, double height family rooms, master bedroom suite with sitting areas and whirlpool tubs and a separate room larger than the larger normal living room to be used as a closet.

Why does the furniture always try to mimic “antiques” but are clunky in form, have poor execution in craftsmanship, are made from inexpensive materials, have blinding shiny surfaces, and stylistically make no sense?

Why do all the kitchens in these McMansions have to follow the same formula?

Is this even necessary?

McMansions… devoid of any style and short on substance. A waste of needless consumption in gentrified suburban neighborhoods. Does this reaffirm anyone's belief in modesty, editing and good taste?

We Need More Space. We Must Have More Space!

Indians Viewing Landscape by Thomas Cole, 1827

One of the tenacious beliefs in America is that we need space. We don't have enough. We can’t get enough.

Consider our history. We first landed on the Atlantic shore, and from there moved inland to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. From there we came out onto the rolling prairies of the Midwest, which soon flattened out into the Great Plains, which were then brought up short by the massive phalanx of the Rocky Mountains. We wanted all kinds of space, we demanded it, and then we quickly filled it up with our presence.

Americans don’t like to be fenced in. With a population of over 300 million people, the unthinkable is happening. We still covet big homes on large lots, located on wide, smoothly paved streets dotted with small newly planted trees. Big houses on big lots cost money. More money than most people have to spend.

From The Economic Cottage Builder, 1856

Early in the history of our country, the size of a house wasn’t important. Owning it, making it over into something inimitably our own, was. Back then, a home was both a refuge and a place of work. It was cozy and comfortable, without any frills or unnecessary accessories. It was where the family came together. Where they established their identity.

A small house was not a liability; it was efficient and affordable. Smallness was a virtue. The decoration was restrained. The woman of the house was to keep the premises tidy and functional. That was her job.

All this changed in the second half of the nineteenth century. With the acquisition of wealth, houses got bigger. Within the span of a few decades, the new middle class changed the concept of domesticity.

The Breaker House, designed by Richard Morris Hunt in 1895 for
Cornelius Vanderbilt II

Designed by McKim, Mead and White for Henry Villard and his family in 1882; completed in 1884. Villard went bankrupt three months after moving into his mansion.

Bigger houses meant more wall and floor space. And they needed to be decorated. Bare walls in a really big house were a sign of weak imagination. All that money and no decorations? The self-made moguls who were transforming the American economy needed to build houses that matched the grandiosity of their tax-free business enterprises. “So and so lives there,” people would whisper out in the streets. “The marble columns come all the way from Italy.”

Great Hall in the Villard House

It was important for these robber barons to strut and display their new-found wealth. Why accumulate money without flashing it around? So they built gigantic domiciles. They coffered the high ceilings, carved fireplaces into elaborate caverns, paneled the walls, installed stained glass windows and posted iron gates around their property to separate themselves from everyone else.

J Pierpont Morgan’s Drawing Room in New York, 1883
Decorated by the Herter Bros. in a style of “Pompeian inspiration … a mild gaiety of expression amid the aroma of perfect taste.”
The ivory white woodwork was sprinkled with gold.

They decorated the inside with artifacts that had virtually no meaning to them personally: suits of armor, oil paintings, statuary, tapestries, and oriental rugs. Some went as far as to have their furniture gilded to give it a smooth satiny finish – reminiscent of what the Sun King had. Above all, they needed to distinguish themselves from the other moguls, and also from the paltry efforts of the middle class.

George W. Child’s Drawing Room, 1870s
Paneled in aramanth wood, large mirrors,
Aubusson carpets and a “Byzantine” clock.

America was founded on principles of equality. The newly rich didn’t want equality. They didn’t want to have anything to do with earlier domestic designs. They thought that was homey and lame. They sent their decorators to Europe to strip complete rooms out of an old chateau in France, old-world palazzos in Italy, musty old castle in Britain paying their impoverished owners the lowest prices. They wanted anything they could find that was European that would cover up the tinselly newness of their new-found wealth.

Ames-Webster House, Boston, 1890s
Interior by Herter Brothers

Ironically, as they looted Europe of its architectural treasures they felt a need to recapture the past. Designed by a new generation of Paris Ècole trained architects, they developed a visual language based on classicism, in which architecture, painting and sculpture combined to express a new sense of national purpose. While a few American voices such as Louis Sullivan were calling for an expression to build with the latest technologies, materials and in a new progressive American style, the American millionaires didn’t want that. They looked to the past. They mimicked the past and added at will. Popular magazines published pictures of their grand houses, which alerted the middle class to the fact they had a long way to go to try and match the excesses of the really big robber barons.