The following anecdote, attributed to W.W. Goodrich, was published in The Atlanta Constitution just 9 months after Goodrich moved to Atlanta in 1889.1
Nearly everything in this story about an Oregon gold rush town appears to be a lie. It’s plausible that Goodrich passed through the location at some point, but he couldn’t even get its name right.
According to the Oregon Encyclopedia, Amelia City “boomed for a short time and quickly declined”, appearing on maps from 1876 to 1890. The article adds that the town’s “…peak population was likely a few hundred…”
So much for Goodrich’s description of a “town of thirty thousand miners…”, including some who “…had not seen a baby in twenty years…” And surely with thirty thousand horny men around, the town’s two young women would have been popping out babies like firecrackers. Oh, c’mon, you know the “old lady” was really a madam.
Even the story of Goodrich’s 1700-mile journey from Salt Lake City to Pendleton, Oregon, is a lie. In 1882, Goodrich lived for 6 months in Boise, Idaho,23 before moving to Seattle.4 That was when he could have passed through Amelia City, which was located on the route between Boise and Seattle, southeast of Baker City.5
Incidentally, the distance between Salt Lake City and Pendleton, Oregon, is less than 600 miles, but who’s measuring?
The only difference between an architect and a con artist is that an architect believes their own bullshit, and Goodrich seems to have straddled the fine line between the two his entire life, constantly running from one location to the next when his lies caught up with him, leaving scant architecture of merit in his wake.
In 1890, the Deep South was virgin territory for Goodrich, and it was no doubt easier for him to get away with his tall tales at a time when the telegraph was the fastest mode of communication, and long-distance phone service was nonexistent.
Travel to the other side of the country was also costly and precarious, and there would have been few people in a backwater like Atlanta who would have been familiar enough with the Far West to call Goodrich’s bluff. Still, you’d hope someone was astute enough to notice the ripe whiff emanating from his outlandish stories.
Notes by the Wayside.
Mr. W.W. Goodrich, the architect, has traveled very extensively. In 1882 he traveled seventeen hundred miles by private conveyance with his family, going from Salt Lake to Pendleton, Oregon. At Amelia, Oregon, he found a town of thirty thousand miners, and in the entire population there were but three women–an old lady and her two daughters.
Mr. Goodrich had along his little baby six weeks old, and the baby created a sensation in the camps. Some of the miners had not seen a baby in twenty years, and they crowded about and handed the baby from one another.
“If an artist could have painted the scene,” said Mr. Goodrich, “it would have been a most interesting picture. There were grizzly old miners with pistols in their belts and knives in their boots alternately crying and laughing as they passed the baby around. ‘God bless his little gizzard,’ said one fellow, as the tears streamed down his face.”6
References
“Comes Here to Live.” The Atlanta Constitution, September 18, 1889, p. 4. ↩︎
“Architect.” Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman (Boise City, Idaho), March 14, 1882, p. 3. ↩︎
“Personal.” Idaho Tri-Weekly Statesman (Boise City, Idaho), September 19, 1882, p. 5. ↩︎
“Architect & Sanitary Engineer.” (advertisement) Seattle Daily Post-Intelligencer, September 29, 1882, p. 3. ↩︎
Henry Bacon and Daniel Chester French. Lincoln Memorial (1922). Washington, D.C.
The Background
This is the fifth in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.
Here, Goodrich tells a “true story” of an encounter with Abraham Lincoln in New York City during the Civil War, although the account is almost certainly fabricated.
Goodrich was a pathological liar of some magnitude,123and it appears that he largely invented his own biographical details, with implausible stories that became increasingly outlandish throughout his life. By the time of his death in 1907, Goodrich was described in one obituary as “a personal friend of President Lincoln”.4
The truth, of course, was likely much more mundane. According to the 1860 census — just before the Civil War, and when Goodrich was 19 years old — a man of his name and age lived in what is now the Financial District of Manhattan, where he worked as an insurance clerk.5
It’s doubtful that an insurance clerk who became an architect ever worked as a bootblack, and the odds that he met Abraham Lincoln are slim to none. Goodrich at least shows some grain of truth by referencing City Hall Park, which is the largest public space in the lower portion of New York.
This fable is in the vein of other hagiographic tales about American “heroes” that were popular in the 19th century — the apocryphal story of young George Washington chopping down a cherry tree, concocted by Mason Locke Weems, is a prime example of the genre.
This is not a prime example, however, as Goodrich was about as skilled at writing as he was at architecture.
It may seem a little daring that an Atlanta architect would write such a glowing account of Lincoln for a Southern audience, but keep in mind that Atlantans in the New South era prided themselves on having swiftly moved on from the Civil War — or at least, that was the image the city’s leaders wished to project.
The Old Southern hatred and ignorance remained just beneath the surface — and does so to this day — but this was, after all, the city that feted General Sherman for 3 days in 1879,6 fourteen years after he partially burned it.
Still, Northern-born men like Goodrich who lived and worked in Atlanta in the years after the Civil War had to walk a careful line: Atlantans weren’t offended if a Northerner pledged allegiance to their homeland so long as that person gave a knowing wink to indicate that they, too, shared the cherished Southern values of racism and unmerited superiority.
Look no further than Goodrich’s article entitled “Educational Advantages North and South”, published in The Southern Architect in 1892.
As TheAtlanta Constitution said of the article: “[Goodrich] views the negro as an incumbrance and a political nuisance, and hopes that the better elements of the north and west will seek homes here and stand by the Anglo-Saxon race.”7
It should come as no surprise, then, that Goodrich’s story includes caricatured and infantilizing depictions of Black people, using offensive and stereotypical language. Two explicit racist terms will not be reproduced here and have been replaced with the [omitted] tag.
The President and Bootblack.
Characteristic Incident in the Life of Abraham Lincoln—A True Story.
Written for the Journal.
“Shine, sir! Shine Sir!” the usual cry of the bootblack trudging along day by day, half-starved, hope in a future better existence, where he can sit beside a table of generous roast beef, mashed spuds, the revivifying coffee, hot rolls and butter. How my memory goes back to those days when these good things were of the “sight and smell only.” A short time before the assassination of our Lincoln he visited New York City in company with that stern, hard-headed secretary of war, Stanton.
I had seen the president on several occasions and knew him by sight, as Mr. Lincoln always, and all times, had a quiet, natural greeting for everyone; even the humblest child could approach him and be assured of a cordial and true gentlemanly greeting.
As they were crossing City Hall park I ran up behind, and with sang froid, said “Shine, uncle, shine, sir?” Mr. Lincoln turned about with a bright, humorous smile, while the great war secretary, in half indignation, asked the president to come on, as time was precious, but Mr. Lincoln said, “Wait a moment, Mr. Stanton, let’s sit down.”
Seating themselves at the west of the old city hall on a settee Mr. Lincoln was in the act of placing his right boot on my box, when behind me arose a cry: “Massa Lincum, let me shine of dem boots? Smug, you go away from dar, den Massa Lincum make me free. You poor white trash no bizzness shining my Massa’s boots.” A good argument, even from the “duke,” as we called the colored lad. My nickname was “Smug.” Mr. Lincoln afterwards remarked: “I will let you both shine; each can have a boot.” A crowd was gathering about us, of boot-blacks, errand boys, news boys and pedestrians, all anxious to know what was up, but all soon knew who the distinguished gentleman was, and with repeated cries from the less fortunate boys of “Go in Smug,” “I’ll bet on the duke,” and other phrases, we shined as best we could, Mr. Lincoln amusingly telling us that he’d bet on the hoss that won, and I’ll pay the boy that shines the best for both boots, patronizingly patting us on the back. When we had nearly completed our pleasant task Mr. Lincoln said: “Boys, I am going to tell you a story. I have just come up from the front. Have been down withGeneral Grant, looking over the battle-fields, going through the hospitals;” and a great tear rolled down his cheek as he mentioned the brave boys, with legs and arms shot off, and the lonely graves of the unknown dead, and thinking of the anxious ones at home, who would never see their fathers, brothers and sons again. How vividly he portrayed the scene. Finally he said: “Several evenings since, as I sat in a tent door, in conversation with General Grant, a colored woman came by the guard, and in her arms were two little colored children saying, as she approached, ‘Massa Lincum, I’se hab twins, boff [omitted]. One I’se named arter you, and de udder arter Massa Washington. Dey’s boff de berry picture ob yous. Now, Massa Lincum, seeing as how yous ben so good ter de [omitted], and dat yous has made us free, and as my ole man is at de front, shouldering his musket fighting for yer, I’se gwine to ask yer to help dese [omitted] to something to eat,’” and suiting his action to his words he took out of his vest pocket two one dollar bills, and gave us each one, saying “you [omitted] look as though something to eat would not be amiss.”
The boys gave Massa Lincum three cheers and a tiger. While I was putting up my brush and blacking, after receiving the bill, even before I was off the bended knee, he saw in box a book. “Smug, what is that book?” I reluctantly gave it to him. He looked at its well-worn leaves and read “Robinson’s Algebra,” looking at me quizzically, saying to himself “Robinson’s Algebra.” “What are you doing with an algebra?” I hesitated about telling him, but his pleased look drew out my story. Only a poor, struggling student, working and striving under every opportunity and at whatever occupation to get an education that would prepare me for the future and that better my condition, and that by knowledge. He manifested much interest, promising to keep a weather eye on my future, and in parting said, “As your shine is well done, do everything else in like manner. and you will soon shine in something better.”
Maison Carlhian. Drawing Room from a Town House: 901 Fifth Avenue, New York City (1923). On exhibit at the Philadelphia Art Museum.
The Background
This is the fourth in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.
Aimed squarely at the upper-class audience who could afford the services of an architect, here Goodrich provided an exacting and plodding description of a hall and reception room decorated in the Colonial Revival style that was then becoming fashionable in Atlanta’s wealthiest homes.
At the time, interior design as a dedicated profession was emerging in larger cities like New York and Chicago, but in Atlanta, it was still primarily the domain of architects — in particular, L.B. Wheeler and W.T. Downing were popular for their interior design skills.
Goodrich affected a lofty and condescending tone typical of the era, when designers — usually men — lectured their readers — primarily women — on how to decorate their homes in a manner that was considered cultured, refined, and in “good taste”.
Pretty Homes.
A Chapter on Interior Decoration. A Roomy Reception-Room and Hall. An Article that Will Prove of Special Interest to the Ladies – Description of Beautiful Decorations for a Reception Room.
Written for the Journal.
Of the numerous styles of design applicable to the treatment of a reception room and hall the Colonial is one of the most pleasing, combining, as it does, the severe and studied simplicity of classic form with a delicate and distinctive grace and daintiness of detail. As one of the first principles of design is adaptability to requirements, the use to which the room is to be put should determine not only the practical essentials of convenience and utility, but also the impression which is to be made on the minds of its occupants by their surroundings, and this impression should coincide as nearly as possible with the thoughts and objects which will be uppermost in their minds. As such a room is devoted to the formalities of society, the treatment of its design should be formal and of studied simplicity. Any attempt at display or indulgence in eccentricities of design, either in wood finish, furniture, hangings or decorations, any violent or startling combinations of color, any pictures or bric-a-brac sufficiently conspicuous and out of keeping with their surroundings to attract immediate attention, would be evidences of bad taste and want of study in the effect of the whole.
Our reception room should consequently be, more than any other room, a harmonious whole, a dream of perfection, for it is here that we declare our taste and education to the world. If it is otherwise, the conception has been a failure, and the visitors will not find that appropriate ease in their surroundings which the occasion demands. It is infinitely better to make no attempt whatever at treatment than to give cause for the ignorant presumption of the would-be critic. A rich, pleasing, and above all, general effect should be the first impression conveyed to the mind on entering the successfully treated reception room, the whole scheme being so carefully studied that no one thing should be given undue prominence, but everything should participate in and be subservient to the effect of the whole, and then this effect will have the “refinement and charm of a fascinating and cultivated woman dressed in perfect taste.” Great care should be taken to produce the exact shades of colors desired, and it is important that those selected should be becoming to the “mistress of the house”, for if otherwise, she will appear at a disadvantage and out of place with her surroundings just when she should feel and appear at her best The most satisfactory results can be obtained by the general use of one or two color at most, but these can be produced in two or more shades which, however, should vary but slightly. Many so-called reception rooms are used for various other purposes which would involve the consideration of other impressions to be expressed in the treatment of design, together with other practical essentials.
Our room is about fifteen feet square, with the four corners rounded, and the wall coving into the ceiling with a curve of about nine inches radius, having no molding at either intersection with the flat surfaces. The inlaid floor is highly polished and has a border ofprima vera and satin wood with the center in strips of the former wood two inches wide laid vertically in each wall, and mitering at angles.
Prima vera is a beautiful golden yellow species of mahogany which is used on the Pacific coast for fine interior finish. The wood finish of the room is made in cherry, which is enabled with seven coats of a rich cream color and polished to a dull egg-shell gloss. Cherry is greatly superior to pine or white wood for enameling purposes, the grain being so close and the wood so hard that all moldings and detail, no matter how fine, are sharply and clearly produced, and the chances of denting or disfiguring in any way by constant use are greatly lessened. As the drawings show clearly the treatment of the woodwork, only a few general remarks are necessary to make them understood. All moldings and details are of the utmost delicacy, the sinking being but one-quarter of an inch.
The carvings are mostly composed of acanthus leaf, rendered quite flat, with an extreme projection of but three-quarters of an inch, those of garlands only having conventionalized flowers and leaves, all executed with the utmost delicacy, edges being sharply and clearly defined, but in no case having a projection of more than one-sixteenth of an inch, the high light edges and surfaces being daintily touched with silver throughout. The portion of frieze over windows is a transom light of silver leaded pink and cream colored opalescent glass, on the same plane with walls of room; below this is a silvered rod, with rings for draperies. The walls are hung with a warm shade of rose pink silk, perfectly plain, in vertical pleats about four inches wide. This silk is secured in place by hooks and eyes, and can be taken down, cleaned and put back again with but very little trouble. Just below the wood cornice is a valance of the same silk, divided into sections by narrow pipes, placed at equal intervals, the head of each hanging down and being slightly crushed. The valance is cut to hang in slight creases, but its lower edge follows around the room in a perfectly straight line, and is bordered by a cream-colored silk fringe two and one-quarter inches wide, corresponding to the epistylium over doors and windows. Just back of this fringe is a silvered rod, supported by hooks screwed into the walls, its surface showing at intervals through the reticulations. The window draperies are heavy ones being of satin damask, in the same rose pink as the wall hangings, but a shade darker with cream colored silk fringes, tassels and linings. A pair of silk lace curtains and a sash lace on silver rods subdue the daylight to the desired tone. The ceiling cove and that portion of the walls above the cornice molding are treated in five coats of oil color on plaster, rendered in cloudy effect, commencing at the cornice, in rose pink, grading lighter toward the ceiling, and finally to a cream color beyond the ornament on ceiling, the clouding being in cream and pink, very light and filmy, and irregularly introduced. At the intersection of cove and ceiling are two strands of braid in carton pierre, forming a framework on which base the decoration. This braid comes down over the cove at intervals in two intertwining strands, and the intermediate spaces are filled by garlands of conventionally treated flowers and leaves, also produced in carton pierre, not over three-eights of inch in relief at great delicacy, both these and the braid being daintily silvered on high lights. Festoons of small discs hang above and below each garland, and acanthus buds and sprays spring from intermediate loops of the braid, flowing out onto ceiling and down into cove. The ornament is mostly cream in color, although where the clouding happens to be cream it has a very light pinkish tone, and in some places hardly distinguishable from the ground color; or, the whole treatment has a dreamy, atmosphere effect, impossible to describe, and must be seen to comprehend. All ornament is, of course, produced without any shadow or attempt at false relief, as under no circumstances whatever is such a treatment allowable. The furniture is like the finish, made in cherry and enameled in a rich cream color. It consists of the following pieces: A window seat about six feet long, having a cushion six inches thick and a large detached soft pillow, the edges of both being finished with a cord, which, on the cushion, is made into corner knots. A light divan five feet long, two arm chairs to match and two reception chairs complete the seating capacity of the room. The bottoms of all legs are shod with small silver boots, having casters on the front and rubber bearings on the back legs to prevent too free and easy a movement over the polished floor. All seats are upholstered plain, that is, not tufted, and the colorings are or figured silk tapestry, worked with bunches of flowers and leaves in delicate shades of dull blue, pink and green, on a light cream ground, the goods being mostly ground and showing very little of the other colors. There is a center table elliptical in shape, has silvered claw feet, and a Mexican onyx top of rich creamy tone. The cabinet has clear plate glass, with silvered leads in doors and sides, a French plate mirror back and three plate glass shelves, the piece being finished equally well both inside and out. All this furniture has the most delicate possible details of moldings and carvings, and is daintily lined and touched with silver throughout. Two large, white, bear skin rugs form the only floor covering.
This is the third in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.
The title of the article is misleading, as Goodrich provided no advice for builders here — they wouldn’t take it anyway. Instead, this article delves into the design of doors, porticos, and other building entries, which allowed Goodrich to whip out such fancy architectural terms as “pronaos” and “antæ”. He obviously read Vitruvius at some point.
Goodrich’s writing style was overlong and overwrought, and you have to wonder how many people actually read this insufferably boring article when it was published — certainly not the newspaper’s editor or proofreader, as the article is chock full of typos and grammatical errors.
Given his grandiose ramblings on the subject, you’d think Goodrich was some genius of architecture, but if you look at the quality of his work, it’s clear he was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill designer with delusions of grandeur.
And that’s the nicest thing you’ll hear me say about him.
Hints To Builders,
A Chapter On Beautiful Entrances.
Houses That Speak to Beholders.
Tame, Flat and Uninteresting Building — Hospitable and Polite House –An An [sic] Article that will Prove Interesting to Journal Readers.
Written for the Journal.
Has anyone ever felt or been impressed by the character of an ignoble or imposing entrance. The insignificance and meanness of a narrow, cramped doorway is as certainly experienced as a sense of nobility and grandeur is awakened by the sight of a great cathedral. Not only, however, in edifices of public character such as these do we feel the influence of the entrance; we find that it impresses an important character on buildings of an official and private class. A small and insignificant entrance stamps the character on the building; in effect it says to every passer-by, “I am only intended for private use.” On the contrary, the wide doorway invites entrance, it proclaims to every observer free and unrestricted ingress, and it stamps the building with an hospitable character. No other feature of a building addresses itself more directly to the eye than the entrance. Every good architecture has a language of expression of its own; the modes by which it gives expressions are few, and may in a word be said to symbolize or represent corresponding qualities or emotions of the mind. Thus we can make a building look vapid and tame by flat treatment and want of vigorous features, or we can make it frown and strike terror to the beholder by massive treatment, bold projections, and overhanging cornices; we can give it an air of amusement and gloom by windowless walls and by severe details; and we can make a building hospitable and polite by harmonious arrangements of the features, wide apertures and ornamental details.
This phonetic quality of architecture is as universal and as easily learned as the qualities of musical composition, or the varieties of rythm [sic] and harmony which expresses the grave and sprightly, the solemn and the frivolous. It has been said that an overture without words can express nothing; but all who can appreciate fine musical competitions know how eloquent and impressive certain passages are in appealing to the emotions and heart. In architecture likewise, though the differences of expression may be few, they are clearly pronounced, and the modes by which they are produced appeal with equal power to even the unlearned and artistic person. Thus we need not inform the least observant the effect that is produced of an excess of a paucity of openings in a building. A wide open fenestration expresses life and liveliness, large apertureless wall spaces gloominess and dullness. The most illiterate and least artistic can appreciate the difference between these conditions of building. The large paned windows of the modern villas as certainly express sprightliness and vivacity as the massive unpierced walls of a goal do gloom and austerity.
The entrance doorway has always appeared to us to be an equally powerful means of obtaining character of a facade, making it inviting or hospitable, sullen or selfish, and it is worth while to consider it as a very important feature in design.
There are several varieties of entrance; the most generally known may be broadly classed under the simple doorway, the projecting entrance and the recessed entrance. Of the second class, the porch or portico is a representation, and of the third, the open vestibule. Each of these kinds admits of many varieties, according to the style chosen and the purpose of the building. The style rather than the purpose of the building has been chiefly taken by architects as the only rule in the matter, and thus it happens that a few conventional modes of treating the entrance continue to be used, in total forgetfulness or in ignorance of what is demanded by purpose and expression. Of all forms of entrance perhaps no more noble or majestic can be found than the classic portico or pro-style arrangement in front of the cella; no meaner than the ordinary doorway in a flat wall. The classic and Italian architect never produced a more impressive entrance than the arrangement known as “in antis,” in which the temple of the building is entered through a pronaos or outer open covered space between two columns and the doorway. In the large and more important temples columns were placed in front of the antae, making a deeper covered space or portico. What is in classical nomenclature known as the “pronaos,” is, in Italial [sic] architecture, a kind of screened vestibule, recessed from the front wall. But as in other inventions of the ancients, modern architects frequently travesty this feature. They make it too shallow to be of value, or make it so small as to become ridiculous. The opening occupied by the columns between the antæ should bar some proportion to the facade, the larger the more dignified and impressive, it should form a convenient shelter from the weather, and should therefore be proportionately deep.
To lay down any rules of size would be superfluous and misleading, for it is a feature that should be planned in conjunction with the internal walls of the vestibule or hall. In a public edifice, as a hall, size is of importance, though it would appear the dimensions of the portico is accounted a small matter, the subject being left to the accidents of planning rather than to destination. We often find public edifices with meagre entrances, and private villas with spacious porticos. If we look at mediæval [sic] edifices, we shall find the noblest of our cathedrals have imposing entrances. The grand triple portals of Amiens and Rheims [sic] are majestic works of sculptural architecture, depth being obtained partly be [sic] external projection, which is gabled, and partly by recess in the wall. The splay of the jambs and seried arch members filled with sculpture play a great part in giving apparent depth to the portal, a principle followed also by the mediæval architects, in diminishing the members, shafts and statues as they approached the plane of doorway. Height, too, was not sacrificed, the tympana are richly sculptured, and the apices of the outer arch mouldings reach to a full third of the height of facade. The entrances to our own cathedrals are less important features, but are largely obtained by recess in the thickness of the wall.
Projecting porticos and porches form a notable kind of entrance, and their chief use is in obtaining external shelter and protection from the weather. Projecting arrangements forcibly express entrance, and are probably of all forms the least tractable in the hands of the architect. In towns they require the setting back of the building, and are, therefore, rather wasteful of area. The chief failure in this mode of expressing the entrance is the want of connection with the building. Unless the porch is designed with special reference to the elevation, it has the appearance of a clapped on adjunct, and this is the common weakness of the porch. From all we have said there a few rules to be observed which may be enumerated. First, the entrance should accord with the purpose of the building in size; second, in its architectural treatment and decoration it should express its function of access and shelter clearly, and its lines should be made to unite with those of the facade; third, a half projecting and half recessed entrance is more pleasing and desirable than a flat doorway. To these, a fourth principle should be added–that the external entrance should correspond with the internal arrangement. A wide entrance or portico should always have an inner vestibule or hall of similar width and importance; and sense of disappointment is otherwise at once felt on passing the external entrance and find a narrow hall within. Yet this is a very common fault in entrance designing which has been studied in elevation and not in plan. We often see porticos and porches stuck on, having no reference whatever to the internal walls. The walls of entrance internally are suddenly reduced to the width of a corridor, and the visitor at once realizes the deception practiced upon him of a counterfeit portico–having no connection whatever with the hall inside. In short, the vestibule and hall should be a continuance of the entrance, and it is better, to enlarge than diminish its width and to increase rather than lessen its architectural embellishment. The object for any entrance hall should be to invite the visitor, not to repel him, as he passes the threshold. It is a feature upon which the ablest architects of all ages have exercised their highest skill, and its treatment, both architecturally and decoratively, ought to be to conduct the visitor to the apartments, instead of by meanness or ostentation to arrest his footsteps, or to disappoint his expectations of the interior.
W.W. Goodrich. Yonah Hall (1893). Brenau University, Gainesville, Georgia.
The Background
This is the second in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.
In this article, Goodrich informed readers on the attributes of a qualified architect, at a time when the building industry was almost entirely unregulated — particularly in the Southeast — and anyone could market themselves as an architect regardless of training or experience.
One of several Atlanta architects who publicly advocated for increased oversight of the profession, here he called for an examining body to register architects, which was not established in the state of Georgia until 1919.1234
Good Architecture,
And Its Scientific Requirements. What Steps Are to Be Applied. An Able and Comprehensive Paper on the Qualifications of an Architect–Buildings Without Claim to Architectural Merit.
Written for the Journal.
It would not be very easy to draw the line between a qualified and unqualified architect, because it is hard to say what the conditions of successful architecture are. There are many who have achieved a professional reputation by name, but whose buildings are not remarkable for any high quality, either as works of art or as successfully planned structures. There are others who are not known to fame whose works, though small, bear the impress of artistic ability. But the question still remains, what are the tests of good architecture, where should the scientific requirements end and the artistic begin? And until these points are decided it will be hard to apply a rule. The practice of architecture cannot be gauged like that of law or medicine by the number of briefs or patients, which are more or less accurately the measures of successful practice, as the fact that one man designs and carries out more buildings than another becomes no test of the artistic qualification. The oftener a physician prescribes or a surgeon operates, the more skillful he becomes–so in the practice of law; but it cannot be said of the architect’s work. There are hundreds of buildings eminently successful as works of skillful arrangement and construction, but which have little claim to architectural merit. Works of this class imply the profession of faculties of a high order and technical skill, all of which may be acquired without any art function. We have abundant examples of cleverly-arranged offices, schools and hospitals, which are without any of the qualities which render them artistic or even agreeable. Other buildings can be named that exhibit every attribute of artistic beauty, wholly wanting in the utilitarian requirements. Which of these two classes belongs to the architect? Those who make good building essential will answer that the first of these descriptions fulfill the object of architecture, and they will be found to include the largest number of people. Usefulness and sound construction are the tests. Publican criticism of architects’ work has generally proceeded on these grounds. Like the reputation of a great man, the merits of a building are of slow discovery. It is the public test of fitness which approves or otherwise. Not one in a thousand can see anything in a handsome, elegant, or picturesque building to put it in the balance against fitness and convenience. Those qualities on paper may gain it for the premium; but the public are the first to find fault with insufficient or awkward arrangements, bad lighting, ventilation, and so on. They may admire a handsome elevation, but they estimate its value at an exceedingly low price. Like good poetry, architecture is understood only by the very few–those, we mean, who take a real pleasure in ordered arrangements, in picturesque handling of masses, in light and shadow. The popular admiration is not worth much when it comes to payment or a question of rates; fine architecture, like high class music or entertainments, sinks rapidly, and the real measure of appreciation or discernment is found to be very small. Fine art, then, being an intangible quality, is undervalued, and those who have to live by it are very few compared with those who deal with the more practical requirements of building. It follows that the architect’s qualifications will be estimated accordingly, and that they must be governed by the public demand. Hence the only successful condition of the architect is that he can accommodate himself to the times, not be too sensitive an artist, nor exacting in his tastes, but be a compliant man of business, a scientific builder.
Our experience of the profession points to the necessity of making the architect primarily a skilled arranger and constructor. Skill in arrangement and construction, however, applies to a variety of buildings intended for a multiplicity of purposes, and one man can never have more than once or twice in his life the opportunity of designing any one special building. In short, the qualifications vary for almost every description of building, and an architect who has acquired skill as a house designer may have no aptitude for designing a school or church. We can only say that there is a certain knowledge and procedure necessarily common to both. How to set about a plan is the first step; for if a man knows how to proceed he can soon solve the problem of any new building that may be presented to him. The experienced architect of one class of work goes to work unconsciously upon a truly logical basis. He knows by heart the requirements, say of a school room–a large array of types or precedents are ready in his mind. His mind agrees on a few principles, as, for instance, the light must enter on the left, desks must be placed along this side, the proportion of the room is regulated by the desks, and he sketches out a plan jointly by the aid of these principles and the types he has stored in his memory. The inexperienced does not proceed in this manner. He seeks precedents, and sets to work copying or arranging something by their aid, but without reference to data. The work fails because it has not taken account of facts; precedents are useful, as they show deductions from facts, but useless unless the latter are known. From which considerations we gather that in planning we have first to discover all the requirements, about lighting and intercommunication, and then by a synthetic process from particulars to generals, to arrange a general form that shall satisfy those data. As the naturalist and scientific observer from observing particulars and their relations can deduce a law, so the architect, who has a new problem of arrangement to solve, formulates a plan. So the function of every room may be met and expressed.
How to design a plan is one of the things the architect has learned. It is included in the course of his training. The statistics of plans are considered one of the primary attainments of the architect. We mean, by “statistics”, all those particulars derived from experience bearing upon dimensions, cubic space, light, positions of doors and fireplaces, seating accommodations, etc. Thus, in the design of a church, the statistics would include the proper distance between the backs of seats, space to each person. In the construction of a theater or concert hall the ascertained distance in front of, and laterally from, the stage or platform at which the human voice can be heard, the proportion of stage to auditorium, the “setting-up” of sections or “sighting” of the various parts of the house, the raking or stepping of the seats and fronts of the “circle” to the inacoustic curve, are among the facts which experience has established, and which cannot be departed from to any extent. The qualities upon which successful hearing depends, the requirements for fire construction, heating, and good ventilation, are among the main essentials of truthful architecture, and these are the points which the public considers they have a right to look for in the building designed by an architect. Many subtle and conflicting questions of construction arise out of the theory of acoustics–for instance, there are proper “lines” and setting-out of the seating and ceiling, the influence of ventilation, or the movement and direction of currents of air upon sound, the proper materials for the reinforcement of sound. When the day comes for registering the architect, one of the main purposes of the examining body will be to secure to each member a modicum of such applied science, to guarantee to the employer qualification in his architect shall put him far above the builder, who has learned construction empirically.
In short, it is the scientifically-trained builder that the public expects. We hear a few say that the architectural tests will be of no avail, for the public will still employ the practical builder. Yes, very true. They will employ him if they cannot get one any better; but the object of future legislation will be to create an improved class of builders–men trained in science, and who are experts in its application to the practical wants of the day. It is for the coming architect to make himself one of these, first of all, so that he may hold his own against the untaught builder, who has only learned one way of doing his work–not always the best or the most economical in its results. Building, like all other trades, has fallen into a groove, out of which mere workshop influence will never raise it.
W.W. Goodrich. Gable on W.W. Goodrich House (1890). Inman Park, Atlanta.
The Background
This is the 1st in a series of articles written for The Atlanta Journal in 1890 and 1891 by William Wordsworth Goodrich (1841-1907), professionally known as W.W. Goodrich, an architect who practiced in Atlanta between 1889 and 1895.
Here, Goodrich argued for the employment of a competent architect when building a home, at a time when the building industry was almost entirely unregulated — particularly in the Southeast — and anyone could market themselves as an architect regardless of training or experience.
Goodrich particularly emphasized the need for good quality plumbing — indoor plumbing was still an emerging technology available primarily to the wealthy, and dangerous and catastrophic plumbing failures caused by substandard materials and improper installation were common.
On Housebuilding.
Some Valuable Hints By An Architect. Points About How to Build a House Give Your Suggestions to an Architect and Trust Him With the Work–A Professional Man Knows More Than a Non-Professional.
Written for the Journal.
To the prospective home-builder, I would address this warning: You are about to build or add to your present domestic or business accommodations. Possibly you have had some experience in planning and construction. Remember a good architect will save far more than his commission, and there is no economy in dispensing with his services.
The reason why houses are so ill-constructed, is not far to seek. The blame rests partly upon the builder, but a large share belongs to the owner’s ignorance of what is essential to a perfect house, or to his unwillingness to pay for it when pointed out by the architect.
While the architect has a recognized superiority in matters of taste and design, he is also better fitted to direct the great variety of artisans employed about a house. It is common but mistaken custom to give this direction to a contractor or builder, who is usually a mason or carpenter, and who is not thorough in his own trade, while lamentably ignorant of the details of other men’s work, which he has to superintend. The solo interest of such a man is to get through each job as soon as possible and with the least trouble and outlay. He is the plumber’s worst friend, when he winks at the latter’s failure to do justice to the owner’s interest, while, as he has no comprehension of the importance of good plumbing, he takes no pains to secure it. The practice of sub-letting plumbing to such men or any lump contractor is very objectionable and all sanitary details should have the personal supervision of the architect. The same reasoning will apply in the case of other departments of house construction and proves the necessity of competent mechanics.
Before undertaking any building or other like work it is always best to draw up a detailed specification, with plans, to ensure against errors or misunderstandings, which create disputes in settling accounts and to thus make it clear just what it is proposed to do, and what are the duties and obligations of all parties concerned. Detailed sketches and working plans will also be found useful, especially for explaining designs to persons not familiar with building operations. A building specification should be brief, concise, yet clear; but the terms should be specific, and particularly those relating to plumbing and drainage; the kind and character of each article or material named should be defined so as to prevent the substitution of an inferior article; and weight of pipes should be stated. And here it should be said that it is always safest and cheapest in the end to specify the best materials. The difference in first cost, for example, between (medium and heavy water supply or waste pipe or between) light and heavy lining for tanks or baths, is slight compared to the durability and safety of the better material. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link and the quality of material has a far more important bearing in plumbing than in other work. This is a matter of great importance and one in which owners are liable to be deceived. It is a common thing for unscrupulous plumbers to substitute light weight pipe, full of sand holes, where sound material is specified and there are no official tests for such material, only great watchfulness will guard against frauds of this kind. The rules of the New York board of health regarding the weight and quality of plumbing materials to be used in new houses may be consulted to advantage. In making contracts for plumbing it should be remembered that the lowest bidder may be the most expensive man in the end. No bid should be accepted at so low a rate that the mechanics who take the contract must either suffer loss or “scamp” the job and therefore be attempted to cheat at every step. Let the owner inquire about cost of materials and labor and make sure of his own protection that there is a living profit for the contractor, for he may be sure that the latter will “get even with him” in some way, and it is better that the owner should agree to pay a suitable price at the outset, than that his house should be ruined and the lives of its future occupants endangered by this common “penny wise” practice.
Two facts should be especially borne in mind by property owners. First, that a great saving can be made by having their sanitary arrangements made right in advance, instead of correcting them afterwards; and secondly, that a house in first-class sanitary condition will bring a much higher price than another which has only ordinary drainage arrangements.
When the house is building it is easy to run pipes in any direction, but when plastering has to be torn down and replaced, double expense is incurred. It is estimated that the difference between good plumbing and the average work of this kind does not exceed twenty-five percent of the original outlay.
If a compromise must be made because the owner’s purse cannot afford the best plumbing, then let the amount of the work be reduced, not the quality. It is far wiser to be satisfied with one really good plumbing appliance than with two inferior articles. Get the best under any circumstances. Let all the materials be sound and durable, and do not get anything merely because it is cheap; above all, remember that the cost of replacing a worn out or flimsy fixture with a good one, is usually almost equal to the cost of putting in a first-class article in the beginning.
The very first requisite before beginning to build a house, is to get good mechanics in every line of work.
If it asked “how am I to know a good plumber from another”, I answer how are you to know a good doctor or lawyer or architect – simply by taking pains to inquire and by avoiding the too common delusion that the cheapest man is the best. The only safeguard, is to employ a mechanic of known good character who has a reputation to lose, and who will be guided by his interest and his probity to do only first class jobs. If the public will insist on having good plumbing they will get it. If a man persists in buying sour bread or diseased meat no one pities him. Why then should we condole with one who engages the first plumber who comes along, without asking the least pains to learn his capacity or honesty, and who in consequence gets cheated? It would be amusing, if it were not so tragic in its consequences, to hear the common complaints of the duplicity of plumbers. The burthen of the story is always the same: “He was a stranger, I trusted him implicitly, and he deceived me.” We answer, why then did you trust a stranger? Next time take warning and find out something about those whom you employ and you will obtain men as worthy of your confidence in this calling as in any other.
Householders who are given to cursing the plumber will very often find, on examination, that their execrations would be more judiciously bestowed on themselves.
Having selected a competent architect, let the owner make up his mind not to hamper him by needless interference. He should take every precaution to secure a trustworthy man, and after giving him general instructions, let him carry them out in his own way. If the architect knows his business he can teach his client more than the latter can teach him. Nothing is more absurd than for people to presume to tell specialists how to carry on their specialty. This is especially the case with sanitary matters, in which amateur opinions are almost certain to be wrong, and wherein a little knowledge is most dangerous. Mr. Eidlitz takes the true professional ground when he says that “an architect, who permits a layman to decide upon the merit of his work, to gauge it, correct it, accept or refuse it – has already given up his position as a professional man.
Separate from its series on model houses — but not dissimilar — The Atlanta Journal published the following article in September 1898, featuring an illustration of the “deanery” (pictured above) then being built for St. Philip’s Cathedral and designed by C. Walter Smith.
The Episcopal Cathedral of St. Philip is as old as Atlanta, established in 1847. Its original sanctuary served as a hospital for Confederate soldiers during the Civil War and was later occupied by Federal troops, who reportedly used it as a stable and bowling alley.12
The building was saved from Sherman‘s burning of Atlanta, allegedly after a priest from the nearby Church of the Immaculate Conception threatened to order all Catholic troops to leave the army if they torched his sanctuary. Because of St. Philip’s proximity to the Catholic church, both structures were said to be spared.34
Cute story, but like most things associated with Atlanta, it’s probably bullshit. In reality, Sherman’s forces primarily targeted military assets and burned less than half of the city,5 which at the time was a town of 22,000 people occupying an area significantly smaller than the current Downtown district.6 You’d never know it from the way Atlantans still drone on about it, though.
The antebellum St. Philip’s was instead destroyed by a tornado in 1878,78 replaced in 1882 with a Gothic-style sanctuary designed by John Moser,910 an Atlanta architect whose work in the city has been entirely lost to demolition.
For more than 85 years, the church occupied a large lot in the heart of the city at the northeast corner of Washington Street and Hunter Street (later Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive SE), directly across from the state capitol.
Mammon and racism beckoned, however, and in 1933, St. Philip’s moved 7 miles north to Buckhead,1112 building a sprawling fortress at the intersection of Peachtree Road and Andrews Drive (a.k.a. “Jesus Junction”), where it remains cloistered today.
Located at 16 Washington Street, the deanery designed by Smithwas built next to the 1882 sanctuary,13 and by 1899 was occupied by the church’s dean, Albion W. Knight.14 No floor plan was included with the Journal‘s article, but there were still several interesting aspects about the project that can be gleaned from the illustration and description.
The building was ostensibly designed in the Gothic style, with drop arches and kneelered gables. However, theoval windowanddentilled cornicewereborrowed from the prevailing “colonial” style of the period. Smith’s eclectic composition clearly followed the lead of his former employer, G.L. Norrman, but unlike Norrman, Smith lacked the skill to blend incongruent elements into a cohesive composition.
Smith’s design for the deanery also broke from his predecessor in two significant ways:
Smith’s design for the deanery included the use of “galvanized iron ornaments”, of which Norrman was a vocal opponent. “How can you expect your child to tell the truth when you have galvanized iron columns painted in imitation of stone on your front porch?”, he wrote in 1898.15
The deanery was planned in a roughly “T” shapewith protruding front and rear wings, which Smith used frequently in his residential works. The C.D. Hurt House, built in 1893 in nearby Inman Park, employed a similar design. G.L. Norrman was undoubtedly the architect for that project, and I suspect Smith was also heavily involved in its creation.
The St. Philip’s deanery only housed the dean for 11 years. In 1909, construction on the first Washington Street viaduct blocked the home’s entrance, rendering it effectively unusable and leading the church to sue the city of Atlanta for damages.17
The city government then rented the structure in 1910, converting it into a school building to accommodate overcrowding at nearby Girls’ High School.1819
The condition of Atlanta’s schools at the time was abysmal, and the old deanery didn’t provide much relief. In January 1913, the Journal reported that 133 students were packed into the building, noting ominously: “If there were a fire…there would be many funerals in Atlanta homes.”20
The same article included a rough sketch of the building’s floor plan (pictured below), which had been altered for school use but still hinted at Smith’s original design.
Sketch of floor plan for former St. Philip’s Deanery, circa 1913.21
The school vacated the building in August 1913,22 and it returned to use as the “church house”, used for meetings and community events. In 1916, the church’s new dean repurposed the structure to house “club rooms for working men and a school for needy boys and girls.”23 By 1917, the space was also being used as a public lunchroom by the Ladies’ Aid Society.24
The building was apparently still intact when St. Philip’s moved to Buckhead, and was presumably demolished along with the sanctuary in 1935.2526
The property is now occupied by the State of Georgia’s Department of Agriculture building, completed in 1955.27
St. Philip’s New Deanery In Course of Construction
The above cut represents the deanery of St. Philips’ cathedral, which is in process of erection on Washington street. The plans are by C. Walter Smith and the motif is gothic in design and detail.
The building has brick walls and a granite foundation, with stone and galvanized iron ornaments.
The interior finish is worked out in plain, rich gothic, and the woodwork is of Georgia pine, highly polished.
The cost of the building will be about $4,000, and it will be pushed to early completion.
The design is an attractive one and reflects credit on both the architect and the authorities who adopted it.
The cathedral building is at the same time undergoing repairs and the appearance of the exterior of the wall will be entirely changed.28
References
“First Episcopal Church in Atlanta”. The Atlanta Journal, July 29, 1923, p. 9. ↩︎
Perkerson, Medora Field. “St. Philip’s Is 85 Years Old.” The Atlanta JournalMagazine, October 30, 1932, p. 3. ↩︎
“First Episcopal Church in Atlanta”. The Atlanta Journal, July 29, 1923, p. 9. ↩︎
Perkerson, Medora Field. “St. Philip’s Is 85 Years Old.” The Atlanta JournalMagazine, October 30, 1932, p. 3. ↩︎
