Architectural Writing Sample

Two excerpts from a book chapter titled “The ‘Shear Force’ of Progress: ‘Bending Moments’ in Chicago Poetry and Architecture“

Unless you’re a true architecture buff, this might come as a surprise: the famous Monadnock in Chicago actually consists of two adjacent but stylistically and structurally distinct buildings. The Monadnock’s northern section—its more famous and noteworthy half—has inspired generations of architects, as well as musicians, painters, and poets. Designed by Daniel Burnham and John Wellborn Root (Burnham & Root), it was completed in 1891, but it resembles no other building constructed at the time.

The project’s developers rejected several of Burnham & Root’s early designs, repeatedly demanding a box-like tower stripped of ornamentation—simple, tall, and strong. Frustrated by the limiting notion of a mere box, the designers decided to draw inspiration from a “boxy” yet still elegant shape: the flared pyramid frustum of the ancient Egyptian pylons. In ancient Egyptian architecture, a pylon is one of two frustum-shaped towers flanking a shorter gateway into a revered structure, usually a temple. However, in a current architect’s lexicon, “pylon” does not necessarily imply the strict definition that inspired Burnham & Root’s design. The term does not even appear in contemporary reference books, specification manuals, and glossaries that architects typically use—most working architects consider “pylon” to simply mean a strong support tower or even an electric pole.

Despite this very specific point of reference, the Monadnock is named after the more geographically accessible Mount Monadnoc—a rugged geological feature of New England, beloved by (and commemorated in the writing of) the American Transcendentalists.  The designers named the Monadnock building after Mt. Monadnoc because of its towering height and relative aesthetic strangeness: just as Ralph Waldo Emerson and his ilk marveled at Mount Monadnoc, the average Chicagoan who came upon this looming monolith would gaze upon it with awe and wonder. And indeed, poet John Gould Fletcher would contrast its smooth façade and utter simplicity to the neighboring “frippery”—the elaborate cornices, terra cotta and marble bands, and embellished façades of the buildings near it. Even the Monadnock’s own southern half, though completed after the northern section, features much more traditional ornamentation.

Today, the Monadnock still impresses and befuddles, its graceful simplicity of style leaps and bounds ahead of its time. Even Mies Van der Rohe, often credited with mobilizing the Modern Movement in Chicago (and casting a permanent rectilinear shadow across its skyline), openly admired this early skyscraper’s daring starkness and long, uninterrupted façade.

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Renowned architect Howard Doren Shaw and his wife, poet and playwright Frances Shaw, didn’t merely reside in the northern Chicago suburb of Lake Forest; physically, culturally, and even financially, they left an indelible mark there. And yet, despite their cozy, well-established suburban life, the Shaws were committed patrons of the arts in Chicago as well. They regularly attended salons and art exhibits, even taking part in a weekly discussion group called “Little Rooms” in the Fine Arts building after symphony matinees. They also maintained close friendships with Harriet Monroe and Carl Sandburg and contributed to the operations of Poetry Magazine.

Of course, although not to the extent that he shaped Lake Forest, Howard Shaw’s design firm also contributed significantly to Chicago’s famous skyline. Standing seventeen stories high on the corner of Monroe and State Street in Chicago’s “Loop,” the Mentor Building would house Shaw’s own design firm; Shaw moved his Chicago office into its upper levels upon its completion in 1906. Shaw’s lauded tower gained its height through technological innovation: Steel-framed internal structure with masonry cladding allowed for greater building height than previous structures with load-bearing walls or iron framing. Seventeen stories may not qualify as a skyscraper today—it would likely be termed a “high rise” or merely a tower—but in the early 1900s, to stand atop seventeen stories was indeed to touch the stars. And just as Howard’s designs for community theaters (including a circular outdoor theater on their own estate) were clearly influenced by his wife’s writing, in her poetry, Frances occasionally reflected upon her husband’s profession. Frances’s frequently anthologized “City Lights from a Skyscraper” was inspired by the view from atop Shaw’s Mentor Building.

Trailblazing landmarks like the Mentor are frequently deemed representative of the Chicago School, though there is some disagreement among architectural historians whether such designations are useful. Even this example proves something of an outlier upon closer inspection. In comparison with frequently noted exemplars of the Chicago School, the Mentor’s sash window structures, its mixture of materials, even the colors in the embellished top cornice place the building outside the norm associated with the “Chicago School.” However, it is precisely its uniqueness that lends it longevity. It still stands today, and it provides a frequent stop for walking tours of downtown Chicago.