This is the final installment in a series of articles published by The Atlanta Journal in 1898 featuring illustrations and floor plans of residences designed by Atlanta architects—or, in this case, a contractor.
The Journal was clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel here, unless the intent was to caution readers against hiring an illegitimate architect. The article highlighted the J.B. Hightower Residence, located at 55 Hurt Street1 in Atlanta’s Inman Park neighborhood, and “done” by a local contractor, E.T. Gibbs.
Based on the illustration (pictured above), the home’s exterior was an artless mess: plain, boxy, and brick veneered with basic Colonial ornamentation tacked on, misaligned doors and windows on the front, and a mismatched roof topped by three tented peaks and an undersized dormer.
The crudely drawn floor plans (pictured below) are equally baffling and raise multiple questions about the home’s design.
Why, for instance, did the downstairs bathroom have a door to the back porch? Was it really necessary to give the upstairs hall and front left bedroom such awkward shapes to accommodate entry to the front right bedroom? And what the hell was the tiny “lunch room” sandwiched between the two floors?
Gibbs was no architect, and it’s likely that he simply swiped a plan from some pattern book and modified it (badly). He was also a notorious asshole.
In November 1909, Gibbs was arrested for assaulting his 17-year-old son in the street, with both of his sons testifying in court that he was “insane”. The trial revealed that Gibbs’s sons objected to his recent marriage to a much younger woman, 10 years after he separated from his first wife.2
Two months later, Gibbs’ young wife sued him for disorderly conduct,3 4 then filed for divorce, citing “his constant threatening, his striking her and his threats to strike her again”.5 6 Among the allegations, the newspapers focused on one in particular: that Gibbs had locked his wife out of their bedroom for placing her cold feet against him, forcing her to sleep in the servant’s room.7 8 9
Mrs. Gibbs said of her husband in a public statement: “He charges me with a great many things, and none of them are true, except that sometimes my feet are cold at night. I do not think this is a crime.”10 She was granted the divorce in April 1910 and awarded $25 per month for alimony.11
In July 1911, Gibbs was sued by his neighbor, Mrs. J. N. Norris, for threatening to “beat her in the face until she couldn’t bat her eyes.”12 Later that year, Gibbs began building an 18-foot-high “spite fence” between their two houses, prompting another lawsuit and a court-ordered injunction.13 14
During the trial in April 1912, Gibbs—who fired his lawyer and represented himself—was jailed for five days for contempt of court after declaring all lawyers as “liars, rascals and thieves” and telling the judge: “I don’t give a damn what you do.”15 16
In late 1914, Gibbs was married to his third wife when he bought a pair of shoes from his estranged son’s shoe store, charging them to his son. When his son refused to accept the charge, Gibbs went to the store and angrily confronted him, throwing the shoes at his head.17
In court, Gibbs launched into a tirade on the witness stand, threatening violence against his entire family, and shaking his fist at an attorney, telling him: “I’ll knock you down in a minute if you call me a liar.”18
The spectacle landed Gibbs in jail again,19 20 with a trial held later that month to determine if he was insane.21 The jury determined he was “mentally normal,” based on the testimony of “a number of women” who cited his “honesty in business and personal dealings.”22
Based on the plans here, I can also testify that Gibbs was an honestly terrible excuse for an architect.
In 1901, the house at 55 Hurt Street (later 161 Hurt Street NE) was already occupied by a different owner, Robert K. King,23 24 and by 1927, it was being marketed as (what else?) a boarding house.25
It appears to have been demolished for a four-story educational building for Inman Park Baptist Church, which completed construction at the address in 1955.26 27 No loss.
The church sold its property to the state of Georgia in 196728 for the construction of the planned I-485 freeway, and all structures on the east side of Hurt Street were demolished for the project.
The proposed interstate was officially killed in 1975 after widespread local protest and opposition from the mayor and city council.29 Today, the land is part of Freedom Park.
Mr. J.B. Hightower has just completed a $4,000 residence in Inman Park, and it is one of the most attractive homes in the city. The house is a good type of a combination wood and brick residence. It is claimed that is construction is better in some ways than walls entirely of brick, though it costs less.
The foundation is of stone in front and brick elsewhere. The veranda is 12 feet wide, with an ample vestibule. The reception hall, parlor and diningroom [sic] are furnished in oak, and the other rooms in oiled pine, excepting the kitchen and pantry, which are grained to represent oak. The principal rooms have plate glass windows and the walls are finished with neat picture mold. The plumbing and electrical connections are first class and adjusted in the most convenient manner.
The premises are provided with a barn, carriage house and servants’ quarters, and everything is completed in good style, with first class workmanship. The work was done by Mr. E.T. Gibbs, contractor and architect.30
This is the sixth in a series of articles published in 1898 by The Atlanta Journal, featuring illustrations and floor plans of residences designed by Atlanta architects.
The article highlights the George Wade Residence, designed by C. Walter Smith, who served for many years as a draughtsman and later chief assistant to G.L. Norrman,1 2 before successfully establishing his own firm in 1896.3
The Wade home’s floor plan hints at how much Smith was responsible for designing Norrman’s residences—I suspect it was quite a bit.
There isn’t much to criticize about the plan: Smith crafted a solid layout with four rooms on each floor clustered around a central stair hall. Each bedroom included a closet, and the second floor contained a standard “trunk room” and dressing room, as seen in previous plans in this series.
Two oddities were the tiny den tacked onto the back of the reception hall, and the massive dining room with an interior wall that awkwardly jutted out into the stairs hall.
As noted in the article, the Wade House was designed in the nebulous “colonial” style of the 1890s, which, in this case, consisted primarily of dentilled cornices and festoons on the friezes and porch pediment.
Festoons were Smith’s signature element—you can find them in nearly all of his surviving buildings, as well as many of G.L. Norrman’s works from Smith’s time in his employ.
Also note the tapered chimneys, which were incorporated into numerous Norrman projects from the late 1880s to mid-1890s, again indicating the level of Smith’s involvement in Norrman’s firm.
Still, Norrman must have guided those designs with a fairly heavy hand, because Smith’s solo work lacked the panache of his mentor, and you can clearly see the limits of his ability in the Wade House illustration (pictured above).
Whereas Norrman consistently produced refined and cohesive compositions, Smith’s buildings often appeared boxy and plain with clumsy touches of embellishment—the Wade design is a prime example.
Located at 341 Gordon Street (later 249, then 1097 Gordon Street SW) in Atlanta’s West End, the home was occupied by the Wade family for only three years.
Wade moved to Cedartown, Georgia, circa 1899,4 where he established a knitting mill that manufactured ladies’ underwear.5 Smith subsequently designed Wade’s home in Cedartown6 7— which still stands, along with an additional knitting mill,8 which does not.
The former Wade home was occupied for many years by Mr. and Mrs. W.R. Beauprie. Mr. Beauprie died in the home in January 1922,10 while his wife, Carrie E. Beauprie, died in the home over 10 years later, in June 1932.11
The exact date of the home’s demolition is unclear, but in 1957, a newspaper classified ad said of the property: “Owner Leaving State SACRIFICE FOR QUICK SALE”, noting its commercial zoning and a location “Right in the path of progress.”12 By 1960, the site was occupied by—what else?—a gas station.13
The above cut shows a perspective view of Mr. George Wade’s house on Gordon street, at the corner of Lawton, in West End. It was built 18 months ago from the plans of Mr. Walter Smith of Atlanta, and is one of the prettiest and most comfortable homes in the city. Every inch of space is utilized, and the house is rich in closets and all kinds of conveniences.
The design of the modern colonial type and the picture shows how it is worked out. The construction is very thorough. The walls are double and the floors are double, with tarred felt between. The interior finish downstairs is antique oak with the exception of the parlor, the sitting room and the den. The parlor is in white enamel, the den in red oak, and the sitting room in curly pine.
There is a very attractive arrangement of the entrance, reception hall, stair hall and parlor. The reception hall, parlor and sitting room can be thrown together or completely separated by the sliding doors.
The second floor is natural pine, cabinet finish. The floors are waxed and polished. The windows are fitted with inside blinds and the house is equipped with electric bells, gas lighting and door openers. There are cabinet mantels in every room and in the hall and the stair hall is separated from the reception hall by pretty grill work, and the stairs are finished in antique oak. The foundation is a solid wall, and there is a good brick basement with a furnace room.
The plumbing is the best and thoroughly ventilated. The workmanship throughout is first class and the house is a gem. It cost when built $5,240, and can be duplicated for about $5,000. The painting is in the prevailing colonial colors.14
The following article, published in The Atlanta Journal in 1898, includes illustrations and floor plans of the E.C. Merry House, built in 1893 and designed by G.L. Norrman.
Located at 144 Lee Street (later 510 Lee Street SW), the five-year-old home in Atlanta’s West End neighborhood was owned by Ovid Stewart at the time of the article.
In 1890, the home’s original owner, E.C. Merry, became the principal of the West End Academy,1 located one block away. Humphries & Norrman designed the school’s original structure in 1883, but for whatever reason, Bruce & Morgan were selected to design its expansion in 1890.2
Norrman was primarily an architect of large residences, and it appears he gave up smaller projects entirely by the late 1890s, so it’s a genuine treat to have an illustration and floor plan for this charming eight-room cottage.
There are a few interesting aspects here:
The home still belonged to Ovid Stewart when it was “badly burned” by a fire in February 1909,3 4 although it was swiftly repaired.5 6 Within a year, the property was occupied by Mrs. Stewart’s brother and sister-in-law, L.B. Langford and E.E. Langford,7 who spent $1,350 in additions8—nearly as much as the home originally cost.
The Stewarts divorced in 1912,9 and after the death of Mrs. Langford in April 1914,10 11 followed by her husband in September 1916,12 13 the home became a rental property.14
Based on city directories, the structure survived another 42 years, meeting the same fate as thousands of other historic properties in Atlanta when the home was apparently demolished circa 1958 for the construction of the East-West Expressway (now I-20).15
Today, the site is occupied by the eastbound ramp from Lee Street. Progress!
The accompanying cuts give the perspective and floor plan of Mr. Ovid Stewart’s pretty cottage on Lee street at the corner of Oak, in West End. It was built by Mr. E.C. Merry in 1893 from the plan of Mr. G.L. Norrman at a cost of $1,770, but could be duplicated now for about $1,400. It is a fine example of the grace and beauty to be found in a simple design when the skill of the architect is bestowed upon it. The plan is simplicity itself, and in a form to be the least expensive in proportion to results attained.
The floor plan shows the arrangement. This can be varied slightly without material difference in the cost, but care will have to be taken in changing it, for one of the chief beauties in the plan is in the adjustment of proportionate dimensions.
The construction is thorough and the cottage is exceedingly comfortable. It rests on a solid wall and has double walls and floors. It is painted gray, with white trimmings, which gives it a quaint, homelike Quaker suit.16
The YWCA in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, has occupied the former Birmingham Athletic Club (1925)1 since 1948.2
This fine vintage sign, sans its original neon, hangs on the building’s southwest corner (3rd Avenue North and 23rd Street North) and appears to date from that time.
Alexander Campbell Bruce—known professionally as A.C. Bruce (1835-1927)—was a founding partner of Bruce & Morgan, the most prolific architectural firm in Atlanta and the Southeast in the late 19th century.
Bruce (picture here1) was born in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and raised in Nashville,2 and although he had no formal architectural education, he claimed to have trained under H.M. Akeroyd, a British-born architect who practiced in Nashville from 18553 to 1867.4
The son of a contractor,5 Bruce started a carpentry business in 1865,6 and in 1870, he moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, where he began billing himself as an architect.7
In 1879, he moved to Atlanta to partner with W.H. Parkins,8 Atlanta’s first professional architect, in the short-lived firm of Parkins & Bruce. Finally, in 1881, Bruce partnered with his longtime draughtsman, Thomas H. Morgan.9 10
One of only five architectural firms in Atlanta in 1881,11 Bruce & Morgan quickly established the largest and most successful practice in the Southeast, producing hundreds of government, commercial, and residential structures across every state in the region for the next 23 years.
The sheer volume and rapidity of their output ensured a certain consistency of design: their buildings were rarely great, but seldom terrible either.
Past historians postulated that Bruce primarily handled design duties while Morgan attended to business affairs. However, I’ve found ample evidence that Morgan also consistently designed projects, if not to the same extent as Bruce—at least in the firm’s early years.
By the time Bruce & Morgan began producing Atlanta’s first skyscraper office buildings in the late 1890s, Morgan had clearly become the lead designer,14 15 16 and when Bruce retired from the firm in 1904, Morgan partnered with John R. Dillon for the successor firm, Morgan & Dillon, which continued until 1935.17
Bruce’s initial retirement was brief, and from 190518 to 1908, he joined with A.F. N. Everett in the firm of Bruce & Everett,19 specializing in churches and school buildings, although he also continued to design homes and apartment houses.
Public buildings were always Bruce’s forte, however, and it’s no surprise that many of his residential projects look suspiciously similar to his designs for county courthouses.
While he never exceeded the limits of his vernacular training, Bruce was a competent designer who admirably attempted to evolve with changing tastes.
The residue of his Italianate designs from the 1860s and 70s still appeared in his work from the 1880s into the early 20th century, but he made good-faith efforts at more sophisticated styles like the Romanesque and Classical Revival, if not always successfully.
Bruce rarely produced any significant writing, and you’ll find nothing especially revelatory in this short letter published in The Southern Architect journal in February 1893. The journal, incidentally, was founded by Thomas H. Morgan in 1889.21
Here, Bruce shares a common lament among architects of the time, criticizing those who attempted to design their own homes instead of hiring a professional.
Since architects were the journal’s primary audience, Bruce was essentially preaching to the choir, and while it may have been more effective to share his sentiments in a public newspaper like The Atlanta Constitution, he was clearly a shrewd businessman who took pains to avoid offending potential clients.
Compared to another of Atlanta’s leading architects of the era, G.L. Norrman, whose tendency toward brash public outbursts made him a lightning rod for disputes—and undoubtedly affected his business—Bruce & Morgan were skilled diplomats who rarely attracted controversy.
Note that Bruce even discreetly signed the letter with his initials only: A.C.B.
There’s a reason he had the top firm.
The expression “I am my own architect,” is frequently used by men and women who are about to undertake the erection of a residence, either in the city or country.
People who are guilty of indulgence in this form of vanity may be divided into two classes. The first are those who, as they express it, draw their own plans and employ an architect only for the purpose of designing the elevations and other “unimportant” matters. They are frank enough to confess that, while they have large ideas, their ability as draughtsmen is not worth mentioning. They disdain to cultivate such mere mechanical skill.
The second class comprise those gifted individuals who are able to draw the entire set, which are handed over to the unfortunate builder securing the contract.
In reality the tragedy of the transaction does not fall upon the builder, whose life is made miserable during the work, but upon the neighbors and residents of the locality, before whose horror-stricken faces are constructed the hideous exteriors that result necessarily from the barbaric practice of the fine art. How much better would the building look if designed by a skillful architect in charge of the work?
A.C.B.22
This picture gives me great joy.
I just found a stash of old images that I had completely forgotten, including this one I took in 2017 of the W.L. Glessner Residence in Americus, Georgia.
Planned as a seven-room cottage,1 this lovely two-story Queen Anne-style home is one of seven surviving buildings in Americus designed by G.L. Norrman. There isn’t historic documentation to prove it, but everything about the design indicates it’s his.
The home was built between May and September 1890 for W.L. Glessner,2 editor of the Americus Recorder newspaper, who was the town’s most vocal booster while it was—briefly—one of the fastest-growing cities in the state.
Glessner lived in the home for less than two years,3 leaving Americus in 1892,4 shortly after the town fell into economic collapse.
I toured this house at least once when I was eight or nine years old, but I don’t remember much about the interior, except that it felt a little creepy and reeked of bat guano, which is true of most old buildings in Americus.
By the early 1990s, the home had been abandoned and stripped of its original woodwork, mantels, and other interior elements, though it later underwent a meticulous restoration that incorporated salvaged pieces from local historic homes.
The owners at the time reported discovering a “secret room,” apparently sealed off for years behind a wall—that certainly piqued my adolescent curiosity.
I’ll revisit the design and history of this home at a later date.
Lorenzo B. Wheeler (1854-1899), professionally known as L.B. Wheeler, was an architect who practiced in Atlanta from 1883 to 1891.
Of his many projects in Atlanta, only Wheeler’s interior design work for the Edward C. Peters Residence (1883)1 2 may still survive, although it’s unclear how much of it can be credited to him rather than to the home’s architect, G.L. Norrman.
Wheeler initially came to Atlanta from New York in 1883 to design the second Kimball House Hotel.3
Before his time in the Southeast, Wheeler worked with Hugh Lamb from 1877 to 1881, and a handful of Lamb & Wheeler buildings still survive in New York.
In Atlanta, Wheeler first partnered with H.I. Kimball,4 owner of the Kimball House, and a prototypical Atlanta huckster who marketed himself as an architect and engineer—he was neither.
Wheeler was the first Atlanta architect to specialize in interior design. In the 1880s, much of his work involved decorating mansions on Peachtree Street, including many designed by other architects. In 1885 and 1886, he wrote a series of articles on home decoration for The Atlanta Constitution.
In 1885, Kimball & Wheeler partnered with W.H. Parkins, Atlanta’s first professional architect.5 One surviving work from the Kimball, Wheeler & Parkins firm remains: the Randolph County Courthouse (1886) in Cuthbert, Georgia, primarily credited to Parkins.6
Kimball left the firm in 18867, and Parkins & Wheeler were associated for a brief period between 1886 and 1887,8 with one surviving project from the firm: the Oglethorpe County Courthouse (1887) in Lexington, Georgia, also credited to Parkins.9
Wheeler practiced independently from 1887 to 1890, and while he wasn’t an exceptional designer, his work was slightly more skillful and interesting than that of most Atlanta architects of the era.
His designs demonstrated an understanding of national architectural trends, and it appears he was particularly influenced by the work of H.H. Richardson.
In the late 1880s, Wheeler secured extensive work in several Alabama boomtowns, and two homes in Anniston, Alabama, are the only known surviving works from his solo period.
Crowan Cottage10 and Noble Cottage, both pictured on this page, are a pair of picturesque Queen Anne-style residences designed for Samuel Noble of Anniston.
Despite the homes’ nearly identical designs, Crowan Cottage has been ludicrously attributed to Stanford White,11 who never designed a damn thing in the Southeast.
Wheeler relocated to Memphis, Tennessee, in early 1891,12 shortly after securing the commission for the Cossitt Library 13 14(1893, demolished 1958), a beautiful Romanesque creation that could easily be considered his finest work.
Wheeler’s former assistant, W.T. Downing,15 operated in Atlanta as Wheeler & Downing from 1891 to April 1892,16 finishing up Wheeler’s unfinished projects in the city.17
Downing easily filled the void left by Wheeler and became one of Atlanta’s most prominent architects until he died in 1918.
By 1894, Wheeler had moved to St. Louis, where he worked in two partnerships before disappearing from the public eye by 1898. Following a brief illness, he died at his father’s home in Connecticut at the age of 45,18 with his death barely noted in newspapers outside of Atlanta.
Described as “quiet and reserved”, Wheeler reportedly owned many “rare and very expensive” books, with his library said to be “the finest collection of architectural works in the South.” After his death, the Constitution claimed:
“His room at the Kimball contained only two chairs, his bed and a dresser, but it was so crowded with books that one experienced difficulty in moving about.”19
It seems fitting that so few traces of Wheeler’s work remain.