
References
- Domin, Christopher, and King, Joseph. Paul Rudolph: The Florida Houses. New York: Princeton Architectural Press (2002). ↩︎









The Queen Anne-style J.M. Beath Residence in Atlanta’s Inman Park neighborhood, better known as the Beath-Dickey House, is the only known extant work by A.McC. Nixon, a British-born architect1 who began his practice in Texas circa 1881 2 3 and first appeared in Atlanta in 1888.4
In late 1890, Nixon partnered with J.M.P. Lindsey as Nixon & Lindsey.5 The firm dissolved in 1894,6 shortly before a court trial in which the pair were acquitted on charges of larceny stemming from their supervision of a home’s construction in 1891.7 8 9 10
The client had accused the architects of pocketing money intended for the contractors, but the matter was successfully proven to be an accounting error.11 Still, the well-publicized trial appears to have damaged Nixon’s reputation.
Lindsey moved to Toronto in January 1895,12 and Nixon’s work in Atlanta dwindled. In July 1896, his personal possessions and business contents were sold at public auction to pay off debt.13
Apparently quite ill, Nixon returned to England in July 1896, “in the hope that the sea voyage might improve his shattered health.”14 Yet as The Southern Architect so eloquently reported:
“On the contrary, the physicians consulted after his arrival in England pronounced his ailment a hopeless case of consumption, and gave him but a few weeks of life. This will be sad news to all who knew the gentleman here in his adopted city and throughout the South, where he established a high reputation as a skilled architect, and had won many friends by his gentle and cultured manners, and whose sincere sympathies like silken chords will extend to him and his across the ocean in their hours of trial and affliction.”15
Nixon died in England in October 1896.16

Despite the claim that he was a “skilled architect,” I’ve seen no evidence that Nixon was an especially good designer, and the Beath Residence’s clumsy, top-heavy design is typical of his oeuvre.
The home was said to be of the “Domestic Gothic” style, “although not pure in this style throughout.”20 That was an understatement: I see almost nothing Gothic about it, except the spiky roof finial.
The home was also reportedly built “at very moderate cost,”21 which is apparent from its appearance.
In 1891, Nixon also designed the similarly styled D.H. Dougherty Residence (above, demolished),22 which has been erroneously attributed to both G.L. Norrman and W.L. Stoddart.23
Atlanta really doesn’t know its own history.













References












































































I’ve passed through Greenwood, South Carolina, countless times on back-and-forth trips between Abbeville and Newberry, two towns that contain surviving works by G.L. Norrman.
On my last pass, I was happy to find this well-preserved sign for the Dixie Drive-In, which apparently debuted with the restaurant’s opening in 1959.
This is a true Googie relic, which is quite rare in the Deep South. Sorry, I ain’t calling it Dixie.

This Queen Anne-style home is Atlanta’s only known extant work designed by J.W. Golucke (1857-1907),1 2 a shyster carpenter who built a career on smooth talk and grand delusions of being a legitimate architect.
A thoroughly fraudulent and incompetent designer, Golucke was one of several “Atlanta architects” of his era who did little actual work in the city, primarily peddling their shoddy plans to poor, rural communities that didn’t know any better.
If you travel through backwoods Georgia, you’ll find more than a dozen county courthouses by Golucke’s design3—all of them terrible.
Golucke fittingly died in a southwest Georgia jail cell while being held on charges of forgery,4 weeks after attempting suicide under the influence of drugs.5 6 His work is not celebrated here.







References

The Fifth Avenue side of the Metropolitan Club enjoys just a few minutes of direct light in the winter, so I had to work fast for this picture.
It was a freezing day in January—hours before a snowstorm hit—but damn it, the result was worth the misery.
Of the many fine examples of Stanford White‘s work in New York, the Metropolitan Club is the best.
The building’s composition is simple yet refined; the elements are perfectly balanced, and the facade is delicately textured with just the right amount of ornamentation.
Someday I’ll get the detail shots.
The structure was designed in the style of an Italian palazzo and built of marble, with opulent interiors that I’ll certainly never photograph. The club, after all, was founded by millionaires and is now patronized by billionaires.
I’ll just take pics by the Halal cart across the street, thanks.






Atlanta’s overall architectural quality is among the worst of any major U.S. city, and you will never find a harsher critic than I of its subpar built environment.
May it never be said, though, that I do not praise the few works in the city that are actually worthy of admiration. Here’s one: the 1991 expansion of the Georgian Terrace Hotel, designed by Smallwood Reynolds Stewart Stewart & Associates of Atlanta.
The 20-story tower was attached to the original 1911 structure—the first of dozens of luxury hotels in the eastern United States designed by W.L. Stoddart of New York,3 4 5 who had deep ties to Atlanta,6 7 8 and designed several other buildings in the city, notably the Winecoff Hotel,9 10 site of the deadliest hotel fire in United States history.

Efficient and prolific, Stoddart became a wealthy man from his many projects, although his legacy is all but forgotten today. I would argue that’s because he spent the bulk of his career sacrificing his creative talent—and there is ample evidence that he had actual talent—by lazily repeating the same designs, which became increasingly flavorless and banal.
Compare Stoddart’s Poinsett Hotel in Greenville, South Carolina;11 the Francis Marion Hotel in Charleston, South Carolina;12 or the Hotel Savannah in Savannah, Georgia:13 the 3 buildings are nearly identical in appearance and plan.
Thomas Wolfe was scathingly accurate in his assessment of Stoddart’s Battery Park Hotel in Asheville, North Carolina: “It was being stamped out of the same mold, as if by some gigantic biscuit-cutter of hotels that had produced a thousand others like it all over the country.”14
After decades of neglect, the Georgian Terrace was abandoned in the 1980s and taken over by squatters, further damaged by a series of fires.15 16 Spared from inevitable demolition, the structure was initially renovated into luxury apartments,17 18 19 with Smallwood’s soaring glass-and-steel atrium, seen here, ingeniously connecting Stoddart’s hotel building with the modern addition.

Considered radical at the time, the design met with some local opposition20 21(isn’t that always the case?), but in the years since, the expanded Georgian Terrace—once again a hotel—has become an integral part of Midtown Atlanta, and is something rare for the city: a beautiful and unique space that preserves history.







