Several years ago I drove around New Orleans for about two hours—long enough to learn that the place is a charmless shithole.
On my way out of town, I was chased for several miles by some cracked-out asshole screaming and throwing objects at my rental car, for reasons that could only make sense to an addled mind.
Before that inglorious send-off, I drove through the French Quarter and the Garden District and was quite underwhelmed by New Orleans’ so-called architecture, which is little more than cheap cast iron slapped onto a lot of gaudy, poorly designed buildings.
I made a point of driving by the former Howard Memorial Library, completed in 18891 and ostensibly designed by H.H. Richardson,2 who grew up in New Orleans but wisely moved North to practice architecture.
The building’s style is, of course, Romanesque—Richardson is credited with inventing the style. It’s not one of his better works, though, and was based on a rejected design for a Michigan library.3
Richardson never saw the building either: construction began a year after his death, and his successor firm, Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, dusted off the plans and reworked them.4
Thus, it could reasonably be argued that Richardson didn’t design the building at all, although it’s often touted as his only work in the South. It certainly lacks the sophistication of his better Northern designs, but Richardson’s output was always hit-or-miss.
I also suspect that Shepley, Rutan, and Coolidge, who were originally Richardson’s assistants, were largely responsible for his later designs anyway, but that’s a discussion for another time.
I’d originally planned to take pictures of the library, but I’ll never set foot in New Orleans again, so this postcard will suffice.
On the front, S.S. writes:
“Good morning Edith. How did you enjoy the 4th.”
The card was addressed to Miss Edith Smith of Box 85, Clinton, Miss., and postmarked on July 5, 1907.
Ever been to Dothan, Alabama?
I know I’ve driven through there a few times, but I’ll be damned if I can remember anything about it. That doesn’t surprise me, though—Alabama towns are generally sad and unremarkable.
This postcard depicts the Adams Motel in Dothan and was published by W.P. Shealy Advertising of Dothan.
The back of the postcard contains the following description:
ADAMS MOTEL
Located 1 block North of Traffic Circle
on U.S. Hwy. 231
39 Units – Air-Conditioned – Panel-Ray Heat –
Tile Tubs and Showers – Room Phones – Con-
veniently Located Near Restaurants.
Phone: Area Code 205 – 792-5194
Dothan, Alabama
Owned & Operated by Mr. & Mrs. Luther Snell
The motel still exists, albeit altered, and is now the Adams Inn. The Googie-style sign shown on the postcard is long gone.
This postcard was never mailed, but someone used it to tally up their trip expenses, with the following calculations scribbled on the back:
1/30/66 With Red Massy [?]
2 Rooms $14.00
Tax .42
Dinner “Billy’s”
3 meals 11.50
Tax .36
Tip 1.25
13.11
You only tipped 10 percent? Cheap bastard.
The following anecdote is about Wilson Eyre, Jr. (1858-1944), a leading Philadelphia architect in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
First published in The Washington Post in December 1910, the story was subsequently reprinted in newspapers across the United States in early 1911.
Much like G.L. Norrman in the Southeast, Eyre was a uniquely expressive designer and a colorful public figure whose surviving body of work I greatly admire.
Reportedly, Eyre was openly homosexual—long before it gained social acceptance—which makes him even more interesting.
Who knows if this tale is true, but it at least reveals something of Eyre’s reputation, and it’s hella good for mythmaking.
‘Wilson Eyre, Jr., the noted Philadelphia architect, can criticize with delicate wit architecture which he disapproves. A brother architect induced Mr. Eyre the other day to go to see one of his latest constructions, a flaring edifice not far from the city hall. Mr. Eyre looked over the new building gravely and silently, and at the end of the inspection the host said in rather anxious tones:
‘”Well, how do you like it? It’s pretty good, don’t you think?”
‘”Excellent!” said Mr. Eyre. “It has only one fault.”
‘”What’s that?” the other asked.
‘”It’s fireproof,” was the reply.’1
Most of McKim, Mead & White’s projects are well documented, but one that is never mentioned in history books and usually omitted from project lists is the charming parish house of First Presbyterian Church in the City of New York.
Built in 1893,1 the three-story structure with a full basement is located at the corner of 5th Avenue and West 11th Street in Greenwich Village.
I don’t know which employees from the firm are responsible for this design, but they did a fine job—surely none of the named partners would have bothered to lift a finger for such a small project.
By the early 1890s, McKim, Mead & White drew almost exclusively on Renaissance inspiration for their designs, and this is a rare example of the firm employing the Gothic style.
Plans for the structure were reportedly drawn by January 1893,2 and when ground was broken in April 1893, the New-York Daily Tribune reported that it would appear as “part of the original church building and will not have the semblance of an addition.”3
They weren’t lying.
Faced with Kibbe brownstone, the addition cost a modest $50,000,5 and was seamlessly attached to the church’s sanctuary, designed in 1846 by Joseph C. Wells (no relation to Joseph M. Wells of McKim, Mead & White).
The centerpiece of the parish house’s original design was the large Sunday School room, occupying a 60×30-foot space on the second and third floors, and topped with a skylight.6
Described as “unusually commodious and well arranged,” the building’s interiors featured ash and oak woodwork and oak ceilings, with a mosaic floor in the vestibule, although it was said that the furnishings would be “of a simple and unostentatious character.”7
A cornerstone ceremony for the parish house was held on May 16, 1893,8 and the building was presumably completed by late 1893.
While its original interiors have long since been altered, the parish house, now known as the South Wing,9 is a hidden gem in Greenwich Village, gracefully obscured by a beautiful walled garden and gnarled old street trees.
This postcard depicts the Dinkler Motor Hotel in Atlanta, designed by Herbert C. Milkey Associates and completed in 1965.1 The building is still in use as a sleazy motel and is the only part of the Dinkler Plaza complex that survives.
The card was published by Dinkler Hotel Corporation, “A wholly owned subsidiary of Transcontinental Investing Corporation”, and contained the following description on the back:
THE DINKLER MOTOR HOTEL, Atlanta, Georgia
The Crossroads of the South and center of social, business and political life. Air conditioned, television, free parking, swimming pool, four famous restaurants, outstanding convention service. International welcome center to greet foreign guests.
The card was addressed to Mrs. Margaret Cohen of 47 Phipps Lane in Plainview, N.Y, and included the following heartfelt note:
“3/1/66
Honey —
Thinking of you
Love
Irving“
There was a Playboy Club in the motel.2 Just saying.
