Rick Bayless Garden Tour: A Flavorful Experience

Join the renowned Topolobampo and Frontera Grill chef in his Bucktown garden on an unforgettable Chicago culinary tour. And be sure to try the begonias. 

When celebrity chef Rick Bayless opens up his urban garden for tours, snatch up tickets — they go fast.

One of the many things that I love about Chicago is that you can be a tourist in your own city. There’s so much to see and explore. So when I received an email announcing the opportunity to take a tour of Chef Rick Bayless’ urban production garden, I immediately texted my husband, Wally, to gauge his interest. Thankfully he was as excited as I was, and we were able to secure a late August visit through the Tock app. 

The Bayless home’s front door

We arrived about 15 minutes early and joined the other guests waiting outside the Bayless residence in a quiet street in Chicago’s Bucktown neighborhood. It’s situated adjacent to the 606, an elevated park that used to be a rail line.

Because we had a little extra time, Wally and I went up onto the 606 and stood on our tiptoes to get an aerial view of Rick’s garden. 

You can catch a peek of Bayless’ garden from the 606 elevated park.

After the previous tour group left, we entered through the side gate and gathered around the outdoor kitchen. The late afternoon sunlight cast a warm glow over the patio as Wally and I eagerly awaited the start of the tour. We were served classic shaken margaritas and I must admit that I was somewhat awestruck as Rick himself appeared, warmly welcoming us and sharing the fascinating history of his home.

The “welcome” margaritas were too pretty not to photograph. 

Polly’s Polka Lounge

He began by telling us that he and his wife, Deann, had been looking for a property in the city where they could live and cultivate a production garden for their restaurants, Frontera Grill and Topolobampo. After three years of searching, they were discouraged and had nearly given up. So when their real estate agent excitedly called and said, “I found your place!” Rick admitted to us that he was initially skeptical, adding that they waited three days before scheduling an appointment to see it.

At the time of the Baylesses’ viewing, a cheap plastic Old Style beer sign with the name Polly’s Polka Lounge still hung outside of the two-story brick building. Built in 1895, it was originally a tavern that served the community of Eastern European immigrants who had settled in Bucktown. “First of all you have to understand what a tavern was in 1895,” Rick said. “We think of a tavern as synonymous with a bar today, but it wasn’t back then.”

It served as a social hub, where residents could gather and connect with others who shared the same language and traditions. In an era when many families lived in small efficiency apartments with limited space to cook, taverns like this one played a crucial role in providing meals. These establishments were equipped with a full kitchen and served up the familiar, comforting dishes of their homeland. 

“The garden adheres to organic and biodynamic principles, meaning that no pesticides, herbicides or chemical fertilizers are ever used.”

Rick recounted how he walked into the main room of the former tavern and thought, “This is where I want to live.” He was captivated by the open floor plan, 14-foot-high tin-plate-covered ceiling and terrazzo floor, which bore a beautiful patina from decades of beer dripping onto the floor where the bar once stood. 

Many of the flowers in the garden are edible.

Fun fact: When Rick asked the owners where the bar was now, he was told that it was sold to a buyer in Ireland, who had it dismantled, shipped across the Atlantic and reconstructed. He mused about the curious journey of a bar made in Chicago by Eastern Europeans now residing in a pub somewhere in Ireland. 

When Rick saw the outdoor area, which is the size of three city lots, he fell even more deeply in love with the property, and he and Deann immediately put in an offer. 

A boulder behind the adjoining property had a face drawn on it by the Baylesses' granddaughter — which Wally, of course, couldn’t resist sitting on.

Wally and Duke think the garden tour is worth the price of admission. And if you’re lucky, you’ll have Rick himself as your guide!

They’ve now lived there for nearly three decades, and as Rick tells it, it was kismet. “This is just amazing because I have always been in the hospitality business,” he said. “My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles were all in the restaurant business, and I grew up in it and then got into it myself.” 

In addition to the former tavern where Rick and Deann reside, there’s also a three-flat next door, where their daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter live.

Bayless tells us about the behind-the-scenes drama of the pibil episode of his show.

The Pitfalls of Pit Cooking in Chicago

Before we left the grilling area, Rick pointed out an earthen rock-lined pit. This traditional pre-Hispanic cooking method involves adding firewood to heat the rocks to a temperature between 800° and 900°F. Historically, people would dig a pit, line it with rocks, build a fire, add meat wrapped in aromatic leaves and bury it to prevent oxygen from getting in. The protein cooks underground over a period of six to eight hours, using the residual heat of the rocks. Rick explained that on the Yucatán Peninsula, this method is used for making cochinita pibil, while in Southern and Central Mexico, it’s used for barbacoa. 

Rick recounted how he wanted to feature this method on his PBS cooking show, Mexico: One Plate at a Time. He got his television crew excited, and they started digging at 8:00 in the morning. However, he had overlooked one crucial detail: the shallow roots of the maple trees growing in that part of the yard. He proceeded to tell us that what appears to be him single-handedly digging the hole was actually a labor-intensive effort involving three men wielding pickaxes for nearly six hours to tackle the stubborn roots. 

“When you watch any kind of television, especially reality television, don’t believe it,” Rick added. “There’s a lot going on behind the scenes that you don’t see.”

Bayless’ local restaurants include Topolobampo, Frontera Grill and Xoco.

Garden Party With Rick Bayless

We followed our host to the heart of the garden, which features a grapevine-covered pergola that yields between 250 to 300 pounds of sweet, juicy Concord grapes annually (the same variety used in Welch’s Grape Juice). Once harvested, the thick-skinned grapes are laboriously processed through a food mill, cooked down and sweetened with sugar. The resulting pulp is used in sorbets and pies at Frontera and Topolobampo. 

The Concord grapes adorning the pergola are used in sorbets and pies.

Adjacent to the pergola is a plot dedicated to growing hoja santa, which translates to “holy leaf” in Spanish. The large heart-shaped leaves are extensively used in Mexican cuisine as a wrapper for tamales, poultry, meat and seafood, which are then steamed or baked. Its flavor is reminiscent of black licorice and root beer, and in Texas, where it grows wild, it’s known as the sarsaparilla plant.

Rick gave us an overview of the main production garden, which holds a combination of raised beds, traditional beds and containers. A few of the raised beds produce salad greens, continuously replanted throughout the season, along with aromatic herbs such as basil, lavender, lemon verbena, marjoram, spearmint and thyme. These provide the restaurants with an array of seasonal, locally sourced produce. 

Many of the fruit, veggies, herbs and flowers are used in dishes at Bayless’ restaurants.

The garden adheres to organic and biodynamic principles, meaning that no pesticides, herbicides or chemical fertilizers are ever used, and it emphasizes the holistic relationship between plants, animals and soil. Additionally, there are two resident chickens, Grace and Frankie, and a small pond that’s not filled with koi but with goldfish from PetSmart, as well as an apiary buzzing with honeybees. 

Colorful zinnias

These cacti are resilient enough to survive harsh Midwestern winters. Bayless planted a single paddle years ago that has since grown to this size.

Raspberries add a burst of color and flavor, not to mention Mexican sunflowers, nopal cactus and butternut squash, grown for both their blossoms and fruit. These thrive alongside hanging baskets of Begonia boliviensis, whose edible red flowers pack a delightful sour citrus punch. 

Wally couldn’t believe how tasty the begonias were. It was like something Willy Wonka would create. (He went back for seconds.)

Rick urged us to sample anything from his garden, which we did, and by far, our favorite ended up being the surprisingly tart begonia blossoms. 

Fun fact: According to Rick, the cilantro we’re familiar with today originated in Southeast Asia and was introduced to Mexico by Spanish conquistadors in the 1800s. However, this doesn’t mean there wasn’t a cilantro-like herb already in existence south of the border. In the garden, you’ll discover an indigenous aromatic, the grass-like pipicha, native to Southern Mexico, with a flavor akin to cilantro.

After exploring the gardens, we used the bathroom and snuck a peek of the kitchen, where Mexico: One Plate at a Time is filmed. It’s filled with well-loved pots and pans, plant-covered windowsills and cabinets lined with souvenirs from Rick’s travels.

I found Rick to be a sincere and passionate teacher. It was a privilege to visit and experience his excitement about his garden as he spoke with us — if only for a magical hour and a half. –Duke

We were served guacamole and ceviche — which Bayless wittily clarified wasn’t made using the goldfish in the garden pond.

Rick Bayless Garden Tour

The highlights

• Guided tour of the garden (we’ve heard his gardener, a charismatic young man, often leads these, but we were lucky enough to have had Rick Bayless himself as our host)

• Welcome cocktail and light Mexican bites (we had guacamole and ceviche)

• Learn about the history of the home and garden and its role in Rick’s restaurants.

• See the diverse array of fruit, vegetables and herbs grown in the garden.

• Gain insights into Rick’s sustainable gardening practices.

• Eat as much flora as you want!

The kitchen in Bayless’ home is the one featured on his cooking show.

The details

Cost: $75 per person

Duration: Approximately 90 minutes

Availability: Select dates throughout the year

Location: Rick Bayless’ private residence in Bucktown in Chicago

Visit Tock to book a tour — if they’re available. 

Note:

• Tours sell out quickly, so snatch up a spot as soon as possible.

• The tour isn’t wheelchair accessible.

• Children under the age of 12 aren’t permitted.

The Joyful, Colorful World of Randyland in Pittsburgh

From the imagination of Randy Gilson: how this haven of whimsy and reclaimed objects has helped revitalize the Steel City.

Randy Gilson, the mad genius behind the folk art spectacle Randyland

Nestled in the heart of Pittsburgh’s Mexican War Streets neighborhood is the vibrant and colorful landmark known to locals as Randyland. The historic district was developed in the mid 19th century, shortly after the Mexican-American War — which is why its streets are named after battles and generals from the war.

“In 1995 Randy purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000.

He used his credit card.”

Rubble, rubble: Randy working on Randyland in the ’90s

The History of Randyland

The story began when its imaginative creator, Randy Gilson, moved to the Central Northside neighborhood in the early ’80s. Randy saw the district’s potential, despite its decline, and became a community activist. He started clearing trash and converting city-owned vacant lots into green spaces. Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.

In 1995 he purchased the building on the corner of Jacksonia and Arch Streets for $10,000. He used his credit card. But there was no stopping his vision: to transform the space into a haven of creativity. Over the following decades, the whimsical outdoor oasis of Randyland emerged.

When Randy creates his artwork, it looks like he gets as much paint on his pants as he does on the house.

What started as a single house adorned with colorful murals has blossomed into a sprawling art collection. Found objects — everything from plastic pink flamingos to mannequin heads to bottle caps — are given a new lease on life, meticulously incorporated into the ever-evolving landscape. Whimsical sculptures welcome visitors, their painted surfaces reflecting the playful spirit of the place. 

Local residents and volunteers rallied behind Randy’s vision, donating materials, time and expertise to help bring Randyland to life. Over the years, Randy has created numerous pieces of art and has planted more than 800 trees and 50 vegetable gardens around Pittsburgh.

Families mill about Randyland during the Mexican War Streets House & Garden Tour.

Bringing Together the Community

Randyland’s artistic style is a delightful combination of folk and outsider art. There’s no adherence to established artistic conventions; the beauty lies in the sheer exuberance and the personal touch evident in every detail. The three-story house itself is a canvas, its bright yellow exterior adorned with fantastical scenes and characters.

The whimsical wonderland of Randyland

But Randyland is more than just a visual spectacle. It’s a space that fosters a sense of community. Randy, with his infectious enthusiasm, is a constant presence, engaging with visitors and sharing the story behind his creation. The museum has become a gathering place for locals and tourists alike, a vibrant counterpoint to the industrial backdrop of Pittsburgh.

Step this way! A cutout of Randy greets visitors to Randyland in Pittsburgh.

The impact of Randyland extends far beyond its physical boundaries. It has played a pivotal role in the cultural revitalization of the North Side, inspiring other institutions such as the Mattress Factory, a contemporary art space, to flourish in the area. And its fame has transcended geographical borders. Randyland had been featured on viral listicles and in a steady stream of social posts, thanks to its numerous photogenic vignettes.

Mac, who sadly passed away, helping his partner, Randy upkeep the attraction. Their hard work has helped revitalize the Mexican War Streets neighborhood.

Not All Rainbows and Unicorns

However, Randyland’s journey hasn’t been without its challenges. The extensive use of found objects means constant maintenance and repair. And the recent passing of Randy’s longtime partner, David “Mac” McDermott, who played a crucial role in the attraction’s operation, left a void. 

Yet the spirit of Randyland remains undimmed.

Randy’s work never ends — so while the attraction is free to visit, consider leaving a donation.

Visiting Randyland

The museum is a nonprofit organization, with donations from visitors forming the backbone of its financial support. Volunteers play a vital role in keeping the installations fresh and vibrant. You can also buy Randy’s merch in his store.

The museum is open every day of the week from 10 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. but may be closed during winter due to the weather.

There’s lots of fun, artsy things to buy at the general store.

If you’re from out of town and want to experience the magic of Randyland, find the perfect place to stay. Sites like Cozycozy make it easy to search for accommodations near Randyland and other Pittsburgh attractions, ensuring a comfortable and convenient stay in the Steel City. –Tímea Nguyen

“Fueled by a singular vision and a knack for repurposing discarded objects into art, Randy embarked on a mission to create a public space that embodied joy and positivity.”

You can’t miss Randyland, a fun activity for kids of all ages.

Randyland

1501 Arch Street
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15212
USA

 

Pittsburgh Is Anything But the Pits

Alaska’s Natural Wonders: An Adventurous Traveler’s Guide to the Last Frontier

The best of Alaska: the glaciers, boreal forests, grizzlies, moose, eagles, orcas and rugged coastlines of the Alaska wilderness.

True explorers can discover the untamed beauty of Alaska: glaciers, forests, wildlife and rugged coastlines.

It’s been referred to as the “Last Frontier” — and for good reason. Alaska is one of the few great wildernesses remaining in the United States. This breathtaking, diverse expanse is an extraordinary spectacle: a diverse landscape of towering glaciers, rugged mountain peaks, vast empty tundras and dramatic coastal plains. It’s one of the most exciting places in the world to explore for adventurous travelers and is packed full of natural wonders waiting to be discovered. 

Aboard an Alaskan cruise, every view is a postcard moment.

An Alaskan cruise opens up a world of awe-inspiring beauty and lets you get to the heart of this remote yet stunning corner of the world. Discover the best landscapes of Alaska’s varied and surprisingly diverse wilderness.

Denali, aka Mount McKinley, is the tallest mountain in North America, standing at an impressive height of 20,310 feet (6,190 meters).

Glacier-Carved Mountains

Towering mountain ranges are a constant feature of the Alaskan landscape. Dramatic peaks and rugged ridges dominate the vistas, crowned by snow, ice and glaciers. Some of the continent’s highest summits can be found in the 49th state, including Mount Denali, the tallest mountain in North America. These peaks and valleys, carved over thousands of years by migrating glaciers, are a remarkable place for outdoor enthusiasts to explore, and a great place for hiking, mountaineering and wildlife watching.

Some of the numerous glaciers in Alaska are 30,000 years old!

Majestic Glaciers

Alaska’s glaciers are some of the state’s most popular attractions. The vast ice fields that cover over 100,000 square miles are actually ancient rivers of ice, constantly shifting and imperceptibly flowing, and are responsible for sculpting most of what constitutes the landscape of Alaska. 

While exploring Alaska’s glaciers isn’t for the faint-hearted, a hike over one of these frozen monuments is a unique and breathtaking experience, and you will stand gaping in awe at the towering ice walls, deep crevasses and shimmering blue ice caves. It truly is transcendental. For the less adventurous, a helicopter ride over the ice is also a treat.

The boreal forest in Alaska takes up about 65% of the state’s land mass.

Wildlife-Rich Forests

Many people think of Alaska as a barren wasteland, but its boreal forests are actually teeming with life and offer an important habitat for a huge variety of flora and fauna. Enormous stands of spruce, fir and cedar spread far and wide across the state and are home to a remarkable variety of ecosystems and natural beauty.

Up to 8,000 moose are hunted every year in Alaska.

Kodiak are members of the grizzly family and are only found on an archipelago in Alaska.

Filled with meandering rivers, tranquil lakes and pristine wetlands, Alaska’s forests are a wonderful way to see the richness and diversity of the state up close. They also offer the chance to encounter some of the Last Frontier’s most iconic wildlife, including grizzlies, moose, wolves and eagles, as well as some more hidden gems such as caribou, lynx and wolverines. 

Quaint Ketchikan is known as Alaska’s “first city.”

Coastal Marvels

It’s hard to do justice to the rough, rugged magnificence of Alaska’s coastline. Stretching for over 6,600 miles, it stands in stark contrast to the wilderness of the interior, serving up a landscape of rocky cliffs, hidden coves and eye-catching beaches, as well as charming fishing villages and delightful old towns.

Orcas, aka killer whales, are actually dolphins. But the other part of their name is apt: They’re apex predators that hunt and consume sharks, baby whales and seals.

The coastline also gives visitors the chance to discover Alaska’s marine marvels, with whale watching a particular highlight. The abundant wildlife just offshore includes orcas, sea otters, dolphins and harbor seals. 

Alaska: where adventure meets awe-inspiring beauty.

The beauty and diversity of Alaska’s landscapes cannot be overstated, and a trip to this wonderful state provides adventure, excitement and natural wonders in equal measure. This stunning destination offers a chance to reconnect with nature and should be on every traveler’s bucket list! –Boris Dzhingarov

Mayhem, Madness and Mystery at the Abandoned Buffalo State Asylum

Unveiling the dark secrets that haunt the halls of the former insane asylum on an unforgettable tour with Preservation Buffalo Niagara at the Richardson Olmsted Campus. 

If you like creepy settings and learning about the history of mental illness treatments, book a tour of the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane the next time you’re in that neck of the woods.

As mentioned in our previous post, Wally and I were staying overnight at the Richardson Hotel. So, of course, we couldn’t resist the chance to explore the vacant buildings of the decommissioned asylum the following morning. I eagerly awaited the release of tickets for the docent-led tour on the Preservation Buffalo Niagara website — and when they became available, I quickly purchased our tickets for the two-hour in-depth tour ($30 each at the time of publication).

After a quick breakfast at Café Calvert, we arrived about 15 minutes early and gathered with the other attendees inside the Lipsey Architecture Center gallery, which hosts a small museum of artifacts, where you can delve into the institution’s history. Once we checked in, we signed the necessary safety release forms and were provided with hard hats. 

Geoffrey has been giving tours for a long time and knows an impressive amount about the facility.

Our guide, Geoffrey, introduced himself and warmly welcomed us on behalf of the Richardson Center Corporation, the nonprofit organization entrusted with preserving the historic structures on the Richardson Olmsted Campus. He began the tour by introducing the key figures who were involved in the construction of the buildings we were about to explore. He also laid out some ground rules: no photography, unauthorized video recording, high-tech ghost-tracking gadgets, smoking, or vaping allowed. (Wally and I had gotten special permission to take a few images inside to accompany this post.)

In the interest of safety, Geoffrey requested that we all stay close together. The buildings and floors we toured have been stabilized for future use — though we saw at least one closed-off area that had a hole through the floor. Someone who wandered into off-limits areas could find themselves plummeting to the floor below. 

The asylum was the largest commission of Richardson’s brief career. His vision for the hospital reflected the Kirkbride philosophy to create a holistic environment for the recovery of mentally ill patients. The central part is now a hotel.

Paging Doctor Kirkbride

The first of three figures Geoffrey introduced us to was Dr. Thomas Story Kirkbride, a Quaker physician and alienist who served as the superintendent of the Pennsylvania Hospital for Mental and Nervous Diseases. 

Kirkbride was a pioneer in advocating for the moral treatment of the mentally ill, and his influential opus, On the Construction, Organization, and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane, With Some Remarks on Insanity and Its Treatment, was published in 1854. It laid the foundation for a standardized concept for these specialized institutions. 

Topics covered in his book included the roles of the staff, putting the superintendent firmly in charge of decision-making — perhaps reflecting the importance he placed on his role at the Pennsylvania Hospital. 

The entire complex took a quarter of a century to complete due to a lack of funds. After a 10-year delay the five women’s wings were finally completed, in 1886.

Kirkbride proposed that these mental facilities not exceed 250 patients, a baseline that was frequently disregarded and likely contributed to their failures. Case in point: When the east wing of the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane accepted its first patients on November 15, 1880, it was already pushing the limits. It was designed by Richardson to accommodate 300 patients, 50 more than Kirkbride’s maximum.

This codified method of asylum construction became known as the Kirkbride Plan and included a central administration building with patient wings on either side.

The men’s ward included a barbershop. One side ended up becoming a repository for plaster molds used to make ceramic Christmas-themed figurines that were sold in an onsite shop.

Buffalo Gets Its Wings

Geoffrey pointed out that when the state of New York decided to build a mental asylum in Buffalo, they sought the expertise of Dr. John Gray, the superintendent of the New York State Lunatic Asylum at Utica. At its inception, the site spanned 203 acres of farmland on the outskirts of the budding city, stretching all the way to the banks of Scajaquada Creek.

The second key figure to be introduced to us by Geoffrey was a familiar one: architect Henry Hobson Richardson. Although his career was brief — he died at the age of 47 of kidney failure — he’s remembered as the father of American architecture. Richardson was responsible for the design and construction of the residence of William Dorsheimer, a prominent lawyer and citizen of Buffalo. When the time came to select an architect for the asylum, Dorsheimer suggested Richardson.

According to Geoffrey, the structure is Richardsonian in certain ways, but Richardson wasn’t allowed to do exactly what he wanted. The state continually made modifications to Richardson’s designs, and the structure we see today was actually the seventh iteration. Gray improved upon the asylum’s design, including the introduction of short, curved corridors, which discouraged the placement of additional patient beds that would lead to overcrowding.

Frederick Law Olmsted’s Impact on Buffalo State Asylum’s Landscape Transformation

By now our group had followed Geoffrey through an underground passage and assembled on the outer edge of the South Lawn, facing the central twin-towered Administration Building (now the Richardson Hotel). Our guide proceeded to tell us that the third person involved in the development of the former state asylum was none other than the renowned American landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted. Kirkbride’s treatment approach emphasized the vital role of the environment, deemed crucial for recovery.

Olmsted and his partner Calvert Vaux were invited to Buffalo in 1868 to design a public park system. In anticipation of the construction of the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane, the duo laid out plans for the pastoral grounds during their visit.

The original plans were lost, and the partnership between Olmsted and Vaux came to an end. However, Olmsted returned to Buffalo in 1879, just as construction was nearing completion and devised a fresh design. He oversaw the planting of around 150 trees and 2,000 shrubs intended to be enjoyed on afternoon walks. Regrettably, only two of these plantings are what remain of Olmsted’s original work: a lone swamp white oak whose heavy limbs are supported by wooden scaffolding and a white ash tree.

The entire complex functioned as a self-sustaining community, with its own blacksmith, bakery and railroad line. Additionally, there was a farm on the northern part of the site, which was designed, along with the extensive walkways and paths, by Olmsted. 

The Richardson Olmsted Corporation enlisted Andropogon Associates, a prominent Philadelphia-based landscape architecture firm, to rehabilitate and re-landscape the South Lawn for public use. Their efforts included the elimination of asphalt parking lots, which were recycled and repurposed to create pathways.

Beware! You never know what lurks behind that door!

Inside the Abandoned Mental Institution

Our interior explorations began with the male ward. These spaces exuded precisely what one might envision in an abandoned former psychiatric facility. The peeling walls were painted aqua blue, and the floors were littered with plaster that had gradually detached from the cavernous lath and plaster ceilings 16 feet overhead. Geoffrey enlightened us about the original wall color of the ward – a pale yellowish pink accented by burgundy trim.

Vents were placed higher up on the walls in the male wards because Kirkbride believed that male patients were prone to gathering around them and treating them as makeshift spittoons.

There’s a substantial amount of work ahead, with various ideas being considered for the future use of these spaces.

Quieting Schizophrenia’s Demons With Controversial Treatments

Our group paused at the end of a corridor where three basketballs sat forlornly and listened intently as Geoffrey discussed the details of insulin coma therapy, an experimental treatment from the late 1920s that laid the foundation for lobotomies and electroshock therapy. 

This method was used to treat patients with severe schizophrenia and involved the administration of small doses of insulin, which were gradually increased over several sessions, until the patient entered a comatose state for a minimum of one hour. The procedure did come with some risks, though, including heart failure and irreversible brain damage. 

While patients might have experienced temporary relief, doubts lingered regarding whether insulin coma therapy delivered lasting improvements. Despite these concerns, it remained a widely employed treatment for schizophrenia throughout the 1940s and ’50s.

One of the most evocative images Duke captured that day: the light streaming into the crumbling corridor, with three basketballs sitting forlornly beside a pair of long-dormant radiators at the end of the hall.

We exited the male wards, walking past the central building to reach the female ward. Geoffrey directed our attention to a brick structure adjacent to the Richardson Hotel’s HVAC system, which once served as the kitchen for the female ward. 

When patients weren’t farming or doing occupational therapy, they spent their time in the light-filled corridors, which acted as day rooms. They were 210 feet (64 meters) long and 15 feet (4.5 meters) wide. Fun fact: One was included in the Robert Redford film The Natural.

Exploring the Women’s Ward

As we ascended a set of metal steps, Geoffrey told us that many of the brick structures on the campus (those not built using Medina sandstone) were unstable and at risk of collapsing. 

The ceilings were made of tinplate, and although they’ve acquired a rusty patina, they’ve fared much better than the lath and plaster used in the male ward. You can still see traces of the original caramel-colored paint underneath the other layers. 

There were clear indications that the corridor we passed through had experienced a fire, which had charred the towering ceilings, likely in the late 1970s or ’80s. This fire, in conjunction with the graffiti scattered throughout the space, was the consequence of squatters gaining access to the property during a period when it was unused and largely forgotten by the city. Thankfully, the fire was contained and didn’t spread throughout the building.

Despite its current state of decay, this room retains a sense of its former grandeur.

When one of the visitors in our group asked if there had been any interesting patients over the years, Geoffrey paused to share a story. He held up an enlarged black-and-white photograph of a woman in a white dress seated in a chair in one of the ward’s corridors.

Evidently, she’d been accused of murder. Following her conviction, she was sent to the Buffalo State Asylum, where she received a diagnosis of epilepsy. She stayed there for three years before somehow convincing the superintendent to release her. Geoffrey mentioned that after leaving the psychiatric center, she vanished without a trace and reintegrated into society. It remains unknown whether she was involved in any more acts of violence.

The sexes were separated at the asylum, and only the women could enjoy fireplaces — the men weren’t to be trusted with fire.

A notable contrast with the male ward was the presence of sitting rooms with large fireplaces, which were conspicuously missing on the other side. Geoffrey commented that female patients were deemed responsible enough to handle fire. He then quipped that the decorative wall grates in the women’s ward were positioned lower because, according to Kirkbride, women were less inclined to spit.

Each three-story wing had areas where patients would spend their days when they weren’t enjoying leisurely walks in the green spaces or tending to tasks on the asylum’s farm. Floors were equipped with a reception room, a parlor, a dining room, single lodging rooms, an attendants’ chamber, two or more bathrooms, and a room with bathtubs — patients were expected to take a bath once a week.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing left of the tracks that help deliver food from the nearby kitchens to the dining halls.

A dolly was used to transport meals from the kitchens via a railway system that extended throughout the entire hospital, leading to a large dumbwaiter. This dumbwaiter, in turn, was used to deliver the food to the patient dining rooms on each floor.

A political cartoon from 1884 depicts Grover Cleveland and references story that he had an illegitimate child (whose mother he had committed to an insane asylum).

Grover Cleveland’s Problem Child 

The discussion shifted to the subject of patients who had been involuntarily committed, and Geoffrey drove this point home with a story of politics and power in Buffalo.

On July 21, 1884 the Buffalo Evening Telegraph published a salacious story alleging that Grover Cleveland, then governor of New York, had fathered a child out of wedlock a decade earlier with a widow named Maria Halpin. She gave birth to a baby boy on September 14, 1874, in a hospital for unwed mothers in Buffalo. The child was given the name Oscar Folsom Cleveland in honor of Cleveland’s closest friend.

Following the child’s birth, Cleveland used his political influence to request that County Judge Roswell L. Burrows remove the child from Halpin’s care. It was reported that Cleveland’s associates then forcibly escorted the understandably confused and distraught widow to the Providence Lunatic Asylum, known today as Sisters Hospital. However, after a comprehensive evaluation, the hospital’s superintendent confirmed the woman’s sanity and acknowledged her as a victim of political manipulation. She was released a few days later.

Cleveland's reaction? He refuted the allegations and initiated an aggressive smear campaign against Halpin, portraying her as an alcoholic and a woman of questionable character. Ultimately, Cleveland went on to win the presidency, and despite a 27-year age gap, he married Frances, the 21-year-old daughter of his deceased friend Folsom. But that’s a tale for another time. 

Some of the bathrooms still have toilets and sinks. High windows allowed natural light to enter without compromising privacy — a practical feature in the era before electricity.

Downfall by Design: The Inevitable Failure of the Kirkbride Plan

Geoffrey delved deeper into the Kirkbride model. His institutions were constructed like grand estates — lavish and expensive to operate. Their goal was to cater to the patients’ affluent relatives, who were encouraged to visit, see how lovely they were and end up convinced they were worth the hefty price tag. 

The tables have quite literally turned, and there’s still a significant amount of work ahead, as the rest of the complex awaits redevelopment. 

These hospitals primarily served as acute care facilities where patients received treatment for short-term episodes of hysteria and conditions such as disagreeable, rebellious or eccentric behavior. By today’s standards, these conditions would likely be categorized as behavioral issues. With patients coming and going quickly, the asylum reported a high cure rate. It’s not surprising, considering that most of the patients who were admitted weren’t clinically insane to begin with.

Patient populations at county-run almshouses that were already over capacity were emptied and transferred to state-run institutions. It was a mix of conditions like dementia and schizophrenia. The Kirkbride model was applied — but there weren’t any wealthy patrons to foot the bill. The more serious cases were never cured, and the wealthier patients who had been financing these facilities switched to private hospitals. Kirkbride hospitals, like the one in Buffalo, became overcrowded and eventually fell into disrepair.

Overcrowded and underfunded, the mental institution finally closed in 1974.

By the 1960s, the Buffalo State Hospital, since renamed, was struggling to accommodate 3,000 patients, despite being built for 600. In response, the institution constructed the Strozzi Building and the Butler Recovery and Treatment Center, both of which remain in operation as part of the campus.

Powerful vignettes like this show the eeriness of the abandoned facility — as if the staff and patients all left suddenly, en masse.

Our tour lasted about a couple of hours and our guide Geoffrey provided us with a glimpse into the fascinating history of these structures. He was engaging and displayed a deep knowledge of the subject matter. If you’re visiting Buffalo and are interested in touring this singular (and delightfully creepy) National Historic Landmark, book your tour ahead of time. They only run from June through October. –Duke

The Richardson Hotel: A Night in a Former Insane Asylum

The hotel brings new life to a Buffalo, New York landmark. But does it deliver? 

I knew we had to stay at this iconic Buffalo building, an architectural landmark dating back to the late 1800s. 

I can still remember the clusters of vacant but majestic buildings of the Buffalo Psychiatric Center, bordering my alma mater. When I was an art student at Buffalo State College in the late 1980s, it had become a daily ritual for me. After parking my car, I would gaze beyond the chain-link fence at the fortress-like structures, imagining the possibilities of their reuse. That was over three decades ago.

In recent years, my dream of exploring the historic national landmark has finally come true. The grounds of the former mental asylum have been reintegrated into the city’s urban fabric and are now known as the Richardson Olmsted Campus. 

“When I shared that we were staying in a former mental asylum with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?””

As a Buffalo native returning to visit family in Ellicottville, New York, I wanted Wally and me to add an extra day to revisit my old stomping grounds and stay overnight at the Richardson Hotel. In its previous iteration, it operated as the upscale Hotel Henry, which opened in 2017 but, due to the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, closed its doors four years later in 2021. 

The 88-room hotel occupies the central administration building and two adjacent wards, which are dwarfed by a pair of twin, verdigris roofed towers, a hue somewhere between green and blue. Additionally, it’s within walking distance of Elmwood Avenue and three world-class museums: the Buffalo AKG Art Museum, the Burchfield Penney Art Center and the Buffalo History Museum, the only remaining building from Buffalo’s 1901 Pan-American Exposition. 

The original campus was 203 acres but is now 42. The largest reduction in size occurred in 1927, when half of the land was used to develop Buffalo State College, Duke’s alma mater.

The Architecture of Madness

But first, here’s a bit about the landmark’s backstory. In June 1871, construction began on a grand new civic project: the Buffalo State Asylum for the Insane. Architect Henry Hobson Richardson designed the innovative facility away from the city center, on 203 acres of farmland, which eventually grew to include 11 buildings. Its parklike grounds were planned by the foremost landscape architects of the nation, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, whose Greensward Plan won them the commission to design New York City’s Central Park.

The monumental Richardsonian Romanesque asylum looked more like a stately manor than a state hospital. It’s anchored by a large central administrative building with two symmetrical sets of wards extending horizontally in an orderly V-shaped formation, like a flock of geese in flight. Its general layout was determined by Joseph Gray, head of the existing State Lunatic Asylum in Utica, New York, and based on the Kirkbride Plan, a geometric system of asylum architecture developed by 19th century American psychiatrist Thomas Story Kirkbride. 

Patients were segregated by gender and condition: one ward for male patients and the other for females. Those who required the most care were placed at the farthest ends of the institution’s wards. This was done to ensure that patients received the most appropriate care based upon the nature and seriousness of their illness. 

Olmsted applied his skills as a landscape architect to establish a buffer between the asylum and the outside world, aligning with Kirkbride’s philosophy of “moral treatment,” which advocated for a more humane approach to mental health care. He suggested to Richardson that the buildings should be oriented to face southeast, which would enable the spacious corridors to be  filled with natural light. You see, the asylum opened on November 15, 1880 — two years before the commercial introduction of electricity. 

Additionally, Olmsted surrounded the buildings with expansive lawns and trees, fostering a connection between the facility’s interior and its surrounding landscape, both of which were considered crucial for patients’ recovery.

Duke loves his detail shots — and this one is of the Minton tile inside the south entrance portico, the original entrance to the central building. 

A New Legacy 

Although the building was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1986, it wasn’t until two decades later that the nonprofit Richardson Center Corporation (RCC) was formed and subsequently intervened. Their objective was to own and redevelop the architectural treasure. The RCC raised funds to adapt a portion of the site, and the state of New York contributed $76 million to help jumpstart the ambitious project.

Following a seven-year conservation process, the public-private partnership focused on phase one, to reimagine the centuries-old complex by regreening the nine-acre South Lawn and adaptively reusing the central pavilion and two adjoining wings of the Medina sandstone building. TenBerke of NYC, Flynn Battaglia Architects of Buffalo, and Goody Clancy of Boston teamed up to undertake the overhaul, resulting in a boutique hotel, conference center and permanent home for the Lipsey Architecture Center, named for the late Stanford Lipsey, the former publisher of the Buffalo News and a champion for the city’s architectural revival. 

A key aspect of the redesign involved moving the main entrance to the north side of the four-story central administrative building, and enclosing it within a contemporary transparent steel and glass box. 

Fun fact: During renovation, the addition attached to the north side of the central building was demolished, revealing the original terracotta-colored grout between the blocks of muddy pink Medina sandstone. Don’t forget to pause and admire this before entering the hotel. 

When I shared my excitement about staying at the Richardson with my friends, they quipped, “Aren’t you worried it’s haunted?” In reality, the only apparitions I found were some of the aesthetic “improvements” made by the hotel’s new owners. 

The hallways at the Richardson feature warm globe lights and distinctive carpeting that evokes the decay of the abandoned wards.

Staying at the Richardson 

After the closure of Hotel Henry, Douglas Development purchased the property and rebranded it as the Richardson Hotel (which reopened on March 3, 2023). While I can appreciate the new owners’ intentions to establish their own identity, they had acquired a timeless and restrained turnkey property. Why junk it up?

For me, the addition of the porte-cochère was disappointing and feels out of place. It detracts from the commanding lines of the sandstone façade and obstructs artist Dániel Shafer’s graceful, rounded Spirit of Community sculpture. Incidentally, the addition of a herd of Buffalo statues doesn’t help. It’s not surprising, then, that the outdoor terrace that used to be above the atrium was dismantled — after all, who would want to overlook a canopy covered in corrugated steel? 

I’ll say it: I’m not a fan of the porte-cochère, which feels more appropriate for a gas station than a boutique hotel. 

As we entered the atrium, I noticed that the elegant, low-slung seating areas outside of the Lipsey Architecture Center were strangely cordoned, as if to say, “Keep off.” And when I looked up at the modern double glass and metal staircases leading to reception, I was overwhelmed by the number of vinyl decals indicating the check-in location. (Note: This abundance of signage was a recurring theme throughout the hotel). 

I saw the sign…and then some! The overabundance of wayfinding signage at the Richardson made it feel cheap.

I was eager to appreciate the scale and volume of Richardson’s design, but what I discovered were walls covered with oversized canvas photo prints of Buffalo landmarks. There were so many that my eyes didn’t know where to focus. The refurbished grand staircase should have been the centerpiece of the lobby, but instead, had to contend with the decorative stencil work uncovered during renovation and the aforementioned wall art. 

During renovation, Douglas Development uncovered decorative stencil work and replicated it throughout the hotel.

The reception desk is tucked under this impressive staircase.

I can get behind the idea of celebrating Buffalo and its architectural legacy, and I have no issue with historically accurate stenciling — but perhaps they should have considered choosing one or the other, not both. If the goal is to pay homage to the city’s landmarks, condensing it into a gallery wall could serve as a more fitting approach. 

The richly patterned and colored tile flooring in this curved connector passage was made by Minton, Hollins & Co. in Staffordshire, England. 

Considering the national reputation of nearby art galleries, such as the Burchfield Penney and AKG, I found myself wishing Douglas Development continued the rotating art program that Hotel Henry established with Resource:Art. This would encourage visitors to explore the hotel’s public spaces, serve as an additional draw and solidify the hotel’s presence within the city’s museum corridor. 

At least the former asylum’s lofty corridors retain their grand scale. The palatial hallways are anchored with wall-to-wall carpeting in a palette of blues and greens. This color scheme could be a nod to Buffalo’s heyday as a Great Lakes port or the peeling paint of the wards that have yet to be restored. I particularly liked the elegant yet simple circular pendants with milk glass globes suspended from the ceiling. 

Just what the doctor ordered: Our room was cozy, uncluttered and bright.

Our Room: A Cozy Queen for a Couple of Queens

We stayed in a Cozy Queen room on the second floor. I had read that most of the hotel's guest rooms were created by merging three single-occupancy rooms, which were only 11 x 9 feet wide. And staying true to its name, our room was compact and uncluttered, with a queen-size bed, two nightstands, a desk and en-suite bathroom. Given the limited space, a built-in stainless steel rack and cheerful bright yellow ball coat hooks efficiently served in lieu of a full-size dresser. 

The wall art above the upholstered headboard was the focal point of the room, featuring a striking black and white architectural detail of the landmark. Not only was it cool but it also served a practical purpose. The panels are constructed from an eco-friendly noise-reducing wool and wood fiber material. 

Café Calvert was the perfect place to start our day. They offer caffeinated and non-caffeinated beverages, as well as an assortment of delicious sweet and savory baked goods. Tell Jenna we say hi!

Onsite Dining at the Richardson Hotel

Visitors can get their caffeine fix and a bite at Café Calvert, which is exactly what Wally and I did after we dropped our bags off in our room. The café sources its beans from local roaster Overwinter Coffee. In addition to an iced latte, Wally and I shared a peach and blueberry muffin and a cheddar and bacon scone, both of which were delicious. Jenna, the barista who served us, was friendly and helpful. When I asked her for a local lunch spot to go the following afternoon, she suggested Remedy House in the hip Five Corners neighborhood, a highlight of our trip. 

We also checked out Bar Vaux, the cocktail lounge located next to Café Calvert. I had the Across the Pacific and Wally, the Hobson Sour. We also shared a tasty thin-crust mushroom pizza. Despite its high ceilings, the space feels intimate. 

Get a pizza (and great cocktails) at Bar Vaux.

Overall, our stay was pleasant but fell short of my expectations for a luxury boutique hotel. There was no welcome book, TV guide or menus for the hotel restaurants in our room. Additionally, only one of us could use the hotel WiFi; if both of us had wanted to, we would have incurred an additional fee. 

The building features rounded passages between buildings — originally designed to deter putting beds in the hallways.

The upstairs lounge is a nice spot to hang out.

With that said, the hotel has been open for six months and celebrated its grand opening on September 19. It’s my hope that Douglas Development has plans to address cosmetic changes using a more discerning eye and introduce in-room amenities in the future, to fully meet the expectations of a four-star hotel experience. 

Buildings aren’t made like this anymore — let alone converted into hotels. So it’s well worth a stop for food and drinks at Bar Vaux or a visit to the Buffalo Architecture Center to see this gem up close, even if you can’t experience an overnight stay. –Duke 

The Richardson Hotel

444 Forest Avenue 
Buffalo, New York 14213
USA

 

Forest Lawn Cemetery: Lost Among the Dead

Buffalo, New York’s famous resting ground is home to the Blocher Monument and the graves of President Millard Fillmore and Rick James (yes, of “Super Freak” fame). 

Wally (and Duke) had a gay old time in Forest Lawn Cemetery — though it was a tough one to navigate on foot.

I’ve always been fascinated by old cemeteries. In college, I taped a set of slides of weathered limestone headstones from the antebellum Laurel Grove Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia, over the diffused light panels on either side of my bathroom’s medicine cabinet. One of the slides showed a tombstone for a little girl, inscribed with the epithet, “Our Little Della.” A few of them were so old and brittle that they were almost translucent. 

So, when my husband, Wally, and I were planning our trip to Buffalo, New York, I knew we had to add Forest Lawn Cemetery to our itinerary. I remembered wandering through it many times in my early 20s, when I went to college nearby, and I couldn’t wait to see it again with him, as he shares my appreciation of Victorian funerary art and expansive 19th century parks for the dead. 

“She gushed about having seen the grave of Rick James, the singer-songwriter of “Super Freak” fame, an ’80s hit that celebrated a kinky girl — “the kind you don’t take home to mother.””

An add to celebrate Forest Lawn’s 75th year, paying homage to its origins at the site of Judge Granger’s homestead.

The Birth of Forest Lawn Cemetery 

Prior to being formally consecrated as a cemetery in the summer of 1850, the land belonged to a man named Erastus Granger. Granger built his homestead and farm on the northernmost parcel, working the tillable parts of the hilly terrain. 

He was appointed superintendent of the Six Nations Agency by President Thomas Jefferson where he maintained a close relationship with the Seneca Nation, one of the tribes that occupied the region. 

After Granger died, Buffalo attorney William D. Clarke purchased the 80-acre estate from his widow and two sons. Clarke intended to establish a rural garden cemetery on the site, which was a mix of dense forest and meadows. This topography is how the cemetery earned its name, Forest Lawn. 

When graveyards were associated with disease, cemeteries were built in rural areas and acted as gorgeous greenspaces.

The Rise of the Rural Cemetery 

By the late 1800s, a growing fear of disease led to a change in the way people thought about death and burial. Cramped and overcrowded church graveyards were seen as unsanitary and as a threat to public health. People began to seek out more peaceful and bucolic settings for their loved ones’ final resting places, which led to the rise of the rural cemetery movement. 

The location of these cemeteries was often outside city limits for both hygienic and aesthetic reasons. They were beautiful greenspaces, with forested groves, meandering footpaths and elaborate monuments. One of the most famous examples is Père Lachaise in Paris, France. Founded in 1804, it quickly became the blueprint for many others. 

As cities expanded, rural cemeteries like Forest Lawn were swallowed up by urban sprawl. Although they were no longer considered “rural” in the traditional sense, they retained their pastoral beauty and tranquil atmosphere. 

The monument to Seneca Nation chief Sagoyewatha, also known as Red Jacket, stands atop a column inside the Delaware Ave entrance. He got his nickname from the red wool British infantry coat he wore during the American Revolution. 

Famous Graves: Millard Fillmore and Friends

Forest Lawn has its share of famous residents, including: Millard Fillmore, the 13th president of the United States; John J. Albright and Seymour H. Knox, the founders of the Albright-Knox Art Gallery; Red Jacket, the orator and chief of the Seneca Nation, who supported the neutrality of his nation during the War of 1812; and George Norman Pierce, the creator of the Pierce-Arrow Motor Car. 

But Wally and I were more interested in seeing a few of the more unusual monuments of its permanent residents. 

These eight bells were originally part of a set of 43 that was forged in Le Mans, France and hung in the steeple of St. Joseph’s Cathedral.

For Whom the Bell Tolls 

Our first stop was an impressive steel structure holding eight verdigris copper and tin alloy bells. The carillon, located near the main office and wrought iron gates of the Delaware Avenue entrance, has a fascinating history. 

The largest of the group is the Oishei Memorial Bell, dedicated to the late businessman and philanthropist John R. Oishei (pronounced “Oh-shy”). It sits upon an elaborate marble plinth that was taken from the demolished St. Joseph Cathedral, which once stood at the corner of Delaware Avenue and Utica Street. This particular bell weighs in at 1.5 tons (3,000 pounds), and is a testament to the craftsmanship of Bolée et Fils, the French foundry that cast them in 1866. 

The Oishei bell's surface bears the Latin inscription “Laudate Dominum Omnes Gentes,” which means “Praise the Lord, All Ye Nations” — more commonly known as Psalm 117. Note the gargoyles guarding the top of the bell.

The eight bells were originally part of a 43-bell set commissioned by John Timon, the first bishop of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Buffalo. They were intended to hang in the bell tower of St. Joseph’s Cathedral on Franklin Street — but by the time they arrived in Buffalo, Bishop Timon had died. The bells were installed in the belfry, but were too large for its interior and never worked properly. They were eventually removed and put in storage, where they remained until the new St. Joseph Cathedral was built. 

Although the new cathedral was larger and more grand than the previous cathedral, its marble-clad exterior was ill-suited for harsh Buffalo winters. By 1924, the north and south transepts required major repairs, and by 1927, the towers were so unstable that they had to be removed. The bells were once again placed into storage, this time in the sanctuary’s basement. Over the next 48 years, 35 of the original 43 bells were stolen, leaving only eight. 

The second incarnation of the cathedral was demolished, but Michael Dozoretz of Lancaster Steel Service Company salvaged the remaining bells. The aforementioned largest of these  was purchased by Patricia Colby-Oishei and given to Forest Lawn Cemetery in 1975 to commemorate her father. 

Oishei made his fortune by perfecting and marketing wiper blades for cars, which had not yet been widely used in 1916. He founded Trico Products Corporation, which still specializes in integrated windshield wiper systems today. The bell is also a testament to the generosity of the Oishei family, who have donated so much to Buffalo's cultural and charitable institutions. 

The seven additional bells were donated by Dozoretz and suspended from the graceful metal frame above the Oishei Memorial Bell in 2020. They ring on the hour and play the De Profundis, a Latin adverb meaning “Out of the Depths of Sorrow,” as funeral processions enter the cemetery grounds. 

The lavish Blocher Monument (located in Section 11), is hard to miss. Look inside: It depicts Nelson Blocher, son of John and Elizabeth Neff Blocher, in repose. Above his head, a scantily clad angel beckons him to Heaven.

Blocher Monument: A Tragic Tale of Love and Loss

Our next stop was the Blocher Monument, one of the most unusual and elaborate memorials in Forest Lawn Cemetery. Architecturally speaking, it resembles a folly, or perhaps a mechanical clock, ready to spring to life. The towering structure is topped by a fanciful two-tiered bell-shaped affair that reminds me of the pink cable knit hat worn by the cartoon character Dumb Donald on The Adventures of Fat Albert, complete with a pompom on top. It reportedly weighs 29 tons, is supported by five pilasters, and is enclosed in plate glass. (I almost don’t even want to tell you what Wally thought it looked like. Oh fine: He called it the Butt Plug.)

There are three crypts beneath a moveable slab in the floor — one for each of the Blocher parents and their son, Nelson. Rumor has it there was a fourth reserved for Nelson’s long-lost love, Katherine. 

According to local lore, Nelson Blocher, the only child of John and Elizabeth Blocher, was caught up in an unfortunate affair. A bachelor at age 34, he fell madly in love with Katherine Margaret Sullivan, the family’s 20-year-old maid. Once their relationship was discovered, Nelson’s parents were keen to end it. They felt that Katherine was beneath their son's social standing, so they sent him off to Italy on a buying trip to purchase leather goods for the family business and dismissed her. 

When he returned from Italy, he was heartbroken to discover that Katherine was gone. Some say that Nelson searched for her in vain, while others maintained that he returned home with a mysterious illness. Whatever the truth may be, Nelson’s health declined rapidly, and he died a year later at the age of 37. 

Devastated by their son's untimely death, John and Elizabeth commissioned an elaborate monument to commemorate his life. The four life-sized figures rendered in white marble were sculpted by the Swiss-born Italian artist Frank Torrey. The centerpiece of the memorial features Nelson reclining in repose, one leg folded beneath the other, clutching the one earthly possession left behind by Katherine: a Bible. 

His parents gaze at his passive supine form. Nelson’s father, John, made his fortune from real estate investments and footwear manufacturing. His figure stands with his right arm resting on a broken pillar, symbolizing a life cut short. His mother, Elizabeth, holds a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a single rose in the other, depicting the bond between mother and child. A winged angel hovers above Nelson, holding a floral crown, presumably to be placed on the young man’s head as he ascends to Heaven.

The Firemen's Monument (Section 8) boasts a 17-foot-tall granite pedestal engraved with the names of the Buffalo firefighters who had died by 1901 battling the blazes that ravaged the city, which was primarily constructed of wood. It’s surrounded by concentric circles of additional firefighter graves. 

Exploring Forest Lawn Cemetery  

While Wally and I were walking through the cemetery, we met a woman from Savannah, Georgia, who was spending the afternoon sightseeing while her son was getting settled at nearby Canisius College. As we chatted with her, she enthusiastically gushed about having seen the grave of Rick James, the singer-songwriter of “Super Freak” fame, an ’80s hit that celebrated a kinky girl — “the kind you don’t take home to mother.”

According to our new acquaintance, it was the coolest thing she’d seen all day and it wasn’t far from where we were headed. She indicated that it was just up the road to the left. We thanked her for the tip and continued to follow the route with the white, yellow and blue stripes. 

The chapel at Forest Lawn dates back to 1882 and was constructed of stone taken from the cemetery’s own onsite quarry. The angel statue is in remembrance of lost children.

After consulting the map we had picked up at the Delaware and West Delavan Avenue entrance, Wally suggested we follow the yellow line that leads to the cemetery's “mausoleums.” As we rounded a bend, I spotted the Egyptian Revival memorial for Edwin Gilbert and his wife Mary Ellen. 

The white granite monument features a raised pedestal with sloping sides, a cavetto cornice adorned with a winged sun disk and the name “E. Gilbert” engraved vertically on the front. Atop the pedestal is an imposing sphinx, likely inspired by the one at Giza. Gilbert was a maltster, a maker of malt, which is the main ingredient used to make beer, along with water. He was also a member of Buffalo’s Merchant Exchange. The cartouche on the sphinx’s chest includes hieroglyphics of an ankh, a reed and water. 

A reclining sphinx wearing the traditional nemes headcloth of Egyptian royalty sits atop a large pedestal with the name “E. Gilbert”‘ engraved on the front. It can be found in Section 8.

We forged ahead and somehow managed to bypass James’ headstone. Meanwhile, we found ourselves circling Mirror Lake. That was okay with me, because I had wanted to see the Three Graces fountain. It’s a replica of the original statuary designed in 1909 by Charles Cary Rumsey for the Hudson Valley estate of his future father-in-law, Edward Henry Harriman. Rumsey was the son of a prominent Buffalo family, and he was also Laurence Rumsey Goodyear’s uncle. 

The bronze sculpture beautifully depicts the three daughters of Zeus and Euryoneme, each of whom has a unique gift to bestow on humanity: Aglaia (Elegance), Eurphersyne (Mirth) and Thalia (Youthful Beauty). The fountain was placed in Mirror Lake in 1987 to commemorate Goodyear’s 40th year of service on the Board of Trustees of Forest Lawn. 

The original Three Graces fountain was commissioned for sculptor Charles Cary Rumsey’s father-in-law, railroad magnate E.H. Harriman for his palatial Hudson River estate, Arden House. A replica decorates Mirror Lake.

Like other cemeteries of the period, waterfront property was in high demand. Many impressive mausoleums skirt the pond’s edge. 

Waterfront property is desirable even for the dead.

This white marble memorial honors George Kingsley Birge, who lead both M.H. Birge & Sons, a renowned wallpaper manufacturer, and the George Pierce Company, which produced the Pierce-Arrow automobile, once favored by presidents and Hollywood elite.

The second time we encountered our new friend was by the gravestone of Sarah M. Hinson (1841-1926). If you, like me, have memories of placing your hand over your heart and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in elementary school, you can trace this tradition back to this woman. Hinson is remembered as a patriotic Buffalo schoolteacher who was passionate about teaching her students to respect the American flag. She chose June 14, 1891, as the date for her first Flag Day celebration because it was the day in 1777 when Congress officially recognized the Stars and Stripes of our national flag. Buffalonians affectionately refer to her as the Mother of Flag Day, which was proclaimed an official holiday by President Woodrow Wilson in 1916. 

Aspiration, a bronze statue of a cloaked female figure is the work of sculptor Harriet Frishmuth. Cast in 1926, it commemorates iron mogul William A. Rogers and his wife, Eleanor Stillman Rogers. 

Wally and I had deviated from the yellow lined route after realizing the “mausoleums” were actually just the places that hold cremated remains at Forest Lawn. We complained  about how hard it was to navigate the cemetery. (Hinson’s grave is in Section 1, and we were trying to locate Section 7 — despite the difference between numbers, we were actually quite close.) 

Ms. Savannah admitted that she had gotten turned around in her car a few times. She then proceeded to share a personal story about her supernatural experience, telling us how she had captured a ghost of a woman in a photo she took while visiting the Pirates’ House, a historic tavern in Savannah that was made famous in the book Treasure Island. 

Apparently she had brought a spirit home with her. After her son saw her doppelgänger and freaked out, Ms. Savannah decided it was time to exorcize the spirit from her home. So she made a pilgrimage to the Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp in Florida, which was founded in 1894 by George P. Colby, an itinerant medium from Pike, New York. The town is home to a century-old community of mediums and healers who believe people retain their identity after death as spirits. She finished her commentary by mentioning that her son made her promise not to bring any non-corporeal guests back from her visit to Forest Lawn. We said goodbye and continued to search for the permanent residence of Isaiah H. Hughes. 

Obelisks were all the rage at Forest Lawn — and we couldn’t figure out which one was for the magician known as the Fakir of Ava.

I had intended to find the modest memorial to Hughes, a magician and illusionist known as the exotic Fakir of Ava. It’s located in the elusive Section 7 of the cemetery, but today was not going to be the day. Additionally, I wasn’t sure about the scale of his obelisk, which was clearly a popular type of monument. There were an impressive amount at Forest Lawn, and they all started to look similar. Ultimately, it eluded us and we were unable to locate it. 

A Tough Cemetery to Navigate 

The cemetery grounds are well maintained, but at 269 acres, its scale is vast and navigating it on foot with a loosely detailed map proved to be more challenging than we expected. Sections aren’t clearly marked, and the numerical sequences that date to the cemetery’s opening were often jumbled. For example, Section 5 adjoins Sections 16 and 21. In hindsight, I’d suggest visiting Forest Lawn by car or by taking one of their docent-led tours. 

Although Wally and I didn’t get to see everything we wanted at Forest Lawn, we still had a memorable day. We met an interesting individual, and will definitely be back to explore more. –Duke 

Forest Lawn Cemetery 

1411 Delaware Avenue
Buffalo, New York 
USA

 

3 Chicago Muralists Share Their Secrets

How is a mural made? That was the idea behind a recent exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center. We did a Q&A with each of the featured artists: Cecilia Beaven, Miguel A. Del Real and Anna Murphy. 

Duke and I have always appreciated murals, but didn’t know a whole lot about what went into their creation. Are they gridded out? Are they done freehand? Do they use spray paint? Or are all these things, as I imagine, dependent upon the artist?

That’s why it was so cool to visit the Chicago Cultural Center and see Exquisite Canvas: Mural Takeover, an onsite installation sponsored by the Department of Cultural Affairs and featuring the talent of three local artists: Cecilia Beaven, Miguel A. Del Real and Anna Murphy. The experiential exhibit was held on the first floor galleries and invited visitors to meet the artists and watch their progress as they completed their works. (The exhibit ran from June 10, 2023 and closed on September 3).

Part of the idea behind Exquisite Canvas at the Chicago Cultural Center was to show the artists’ process of creating their murals.

Pro tip: In our opinion, you have a better chance of seeing an impressive art exhibit at the Cultural Center, which is free, versus the often disappointing and even laughable works displayed at the Museum of Contemporary Art.

The first room of the exhibit had a brightly colored geometric mural titled Perspectiva Perpetua by Miguel, who has a tattoo and calligraphy background. It depicted a man in the middle, staring intently ahead, with an Aztec jaguar on one side and a woman in profile with her eyes closed and her head tilted upwards on other other. Miguel was working on his mural the day we visited. It was pretty cool to have the opportunity to chat with him briefly. 

Miguel A. Del Real working on Perspectiva Perpetua

We admired his mural as well as the other two by Cecilia and Anna. Cecilia’s piece, Moon Bloom, references tenangos, a colorful style of embroidery that originated in the Tenango de Doria municipality in the Mexican state of Hidalgo.

Moon Bloom by Cecilia Beaven

Anna’s concept, Awakening, featured a resting tiger,  symbolizing the inner strength in each of us. She’s known for her photorealistic style and use of blue and gold paint.

Awakening by Anna Murphy

Seeing Miguel at work gave us a glimpse into the making of a mural, but we still had a lot of questions. So we decided to reach out to the artists to learn more. 

Fortunately, all three took the time to answer our questions, and their Q&As provided a fascinating glimpse into their creative process. –Wally

Cecilia Beaven

How did you get into art?

I remember drawing since I remember being myself. Creating images has always been an activity that fascinates me and it’s my favorite form of communication or expression. I started taking art classes when I was a kid, and I started doing art more professionally right after highschool when I went to art college.

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

I explore mythology through a very playful lens that allows for experimentation and speculation. I draw from Aztec and other Mesoamerican stories and combine their archetypal elements with fiction in a seamless way. I also include a self-representative character that inhabits these narratives and allows for reflection on my place in the making of culture and participation in it.

Which character is that?

The character that represents me is the woman figure with a big nose and short hair that you can see in a lot of my pieces.

Are they entirely planned out in advance?

They usually are. I do lots of sketches, color tests, and planning ahead of time, so when I’m on site creating a mural I know what steps to follow. There are a few decisions that get modified once I’m in front of the actual wall, but not many.

Do you draw them out on the wall?

Yes. The sketching technique depends on the project, resources available, and time limitations. Sometimes I work traditionally and follow a grid, sometimes I project my sketch, and sometimes I just freehand recreate my sketch.

Tell us more about your technique and the process of creating your murals.

I create a loose sketch on a sketchbook using non-photo blue pencil. Once I like where it's going, I ink it. Then I scan my drawing and get rid of the blue. I use photoshop to do color tests and once I’m happy with the color palette, I print it. I then mix paints that match my tones. 

On the mural site, I recreate my sketch on the wall (using a grid, freehand, or with a projector, depending on the project) and then start to apply my colors from the background to the foreground.

How long does it typically take to create a mural?

The time depends on the size of the wall and how detailed it is. But I work pretty fast, so I’ve completed small murals in one day and the largest ones in two or three weeks. 

How would you describe your style?

Playful, cartoony, absurd, mythological, self-reflective, bold.

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

I love using my whole body to create an image, to see something as big as me, or bigger, take shape as I move my body. I also love being on ladders, scaffoldings, and lifts. And I enjoy the mindset that creating a mural puts me in, I feel calm and focused.

What is your least favorite part?

Painting the lower part of the walls that require bending, kneeling or even lying down on the floor.

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

Ideally, I want people to experience happiness and a sense of hope.

ceciliabeaven.com

Instagram: @samuraiceci

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Miguel A. Del Real

How did you get into art?

It wasn’t until second or third grade. I was trying to replicate the Ninja Turtles, and I think that’s what really got me into drawing. And then around seventh or eighth grade and throughout high school, I got into doing graffiti letters. 

I stopped for a little bit when I went to Northern Illinois University, but then I came back into the city and started hanging out with old friends. And I started getting back into the arts, like with graffiti murals. 

I would say that’s what helped develop me as an artist, those years doing experimental work — that’s what led me to be taken a little bit more seriously as a professional artist. 

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

That’s tough. You do want to be respectful to where you’re painting, And I feel like that approach is what has helped shape some of the ideas or concepts. 

These past couple years, I’ve been experimenting more with the sense of consciousness. I don’t want to say spirituality or anything like that. But it’s just been more like depicting dreams, combining some abstract elements with figurative elements, patterns, heavy line work. 

Are they entirely planned out in advance?

I like to leave some breathing room. So I would say, when it’s a job that really requires that they’re more hands-on, they want everything planned out.

This particular one that the cultural center, they allowed a lot of flexibility, where I just gave them a rough sketch. And then out of that, I was able to change it and add things as I went, inspired by the space. 

Do you draw them out on the wall? Tell us about your technique and the process of creating your murals.

I just start sketching. Like at the cultural center, I sketched it with pencil. They wanted it with a brush — I couldn’t use any aerosol. Then you start blocking out sections with paint and color, and then you move on to details. 

When it’s a mural outside, I can use spray paint and I start sketching with the paint itself, just blocking in shapes. 

How long does it typically take to create a mural?

As fast as two and a half weeks to a month and a half.

How would you describe your style?

With my background in graffiti lettering, I use the chisel qualities of a brush, from thick to thin, combined with sacred geometry with shapes like circles, squares, triangles. 

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

It’s definitely the painting. Once you have the sketch done, the coloring of it — even though that’s where I struggle the most, where I go back and forth with colors. This is when it really starts coming to life. 

What is your least favorite part?

The sketching, because everything needs to be locked in precisely. So if something looks wrong, then that throws off the whole mural — everything needs to be mathematically divided. 

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

The common theme that I have, regardless of the different institutions and corporations that I’ve painted for, it’s always the message of transformation, evolving. Man fusing with spirit or nature.

delrealink.com

Instagram: @delrealink

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Anna Murphy

How did you get into art?

I received a BFA in painting from the University of Louisville in 2011. After many years creating fine art oil paintings on canvas, I painted my first mural in 2018, and fell in love with the large scale and community aspect of public art.

How do you get your ideas for murals? What subjects do you cover?

The central themes of my work include celebrating nature’s wondrous beauty and the divine connection we share with one another, Mother Earth and the animal kingdom. My spirituality is the driving force of my life and my art.

Are they entirely planned out in advance? Do you draw them out on the wall? 

Yes, I design the layout in PhotoShop, then project a line drawing of my design onto the wall. With a small paintbrush, I paint the outline of the design onto the wall.

How would you describe your style? 

With a traditional painting background, I merge the worlds of fine art and street art by bringing an emphasis on intricate detail into my large-scale public murals.

Tell us about your technique and the process of creating your murals. 

Hand-painted with brushes, my painting style uses a process similar to watercolor, building up thin layers of washes to create depth, texture and a lifelike quality.

What’s your favorite part about creating a mural?

Knowing that it will bring joy and inspiration to those who see it, for years to come.

What is your least favorite part?

Spiders.

What message do you want people to get from your murals?

The metallic gold background reflects our own divinity and the sacredness of life. The cobalt blue, a symbol of Earth, like Heaven and Earth together, this combination portrays the connection between the human and the divine. The cherubs are also a symbol of our connection to the divine, and guardians of our pure and spiritual nature. The bees act as a symbol of a higher frequency, community and a connection to all things. The flowers and plants, a symbol of Mother Nature’s beauty, represent a paradise that can also be found within.

annapmurphy.com

Instagram: @annapmurphy

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Chicago Cultural Center 

78 East Washington Street
Chicago, Illinois
USA

Falling for Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater

A room-by-room tour of the UNESCO World Heritage masterpiece in southwestern Pennsylvania, where nature and modern architecture coexist in breathtaking harmony. Plus: What a place to skinny-dip!

Duke and Wally pose by the aptly named Iconic View of the home. The cantilevered terraces unite the indoor and outdoor spaces, blurring the lines between nature and architecture.

Every summer, my parents visit Wally and me in Chicago for a long weekend. We always have a great time together, and this year we decided to mix things up by taking a short trip to Pittsburgh. The four of us had already toured two of Frank Lloyd Wright’s residences, the Martin House in Buffalo and Graycliff in Derby, New York. We chose Pittsburgh because of its proximity to Fallingwater, and since my parents were driving, we set aside a day to experience it together. 

The rushing waters of Bear Run stream were especially feisty after the rain.

Pro tip: Get there early and explore the grounds. When we checked in at the Fallingwater Visitor Center kiosk, one of the staff members provided us with a map and suggested we visit the Iconic View platform. She informed us that it wasn’t part of our tour — and we were glad we made the trek to see it. It’s a short 10-minute walk down the trail to the aptly named viewing platform, which is easy to follow and accessible to most people. This is the money shot folks, and we guarantee that you’ll appreciate the stunning views of Fallingwater, the waterfall and the surrounding landscape.

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LEARN MORE ABOUT THE ORIGINS OF FALLINGWATER, from the geological inspiration to the friendship between Edgar J. Kaufmann and Frank Lloyd Wright. 

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The Edgar J. Kauffman Sr. Residence aka Fallingwater looks picture perfect from any angle. The color of the terraces and the bridge were chosen by Wright to match the underside of a dying rhododendron leaf, or sere.

Fallingwater: The House That Wright Built 

As we rounded the bend in the gravel path the sound of rushing water intensified and filled our ears. There, nestled among the abundant native rhododendrons and trees, was Fallingwater. Perched on a precipice above a rushing waterfall, the historic weekend retreat built for the Kaufmann family was even more awe-inspiring in person than I had imagined. Its cantilevered terraces appeared to float, extending outward like a precarious stack of Jenga blocks moments before toppling.

The original budget for Fallingwater was $35,000, but the final cost (including the guesthouse) ballooned to $155,000. To put this in perspective, an average house cost $5,000 to build in the late 1930s.

We paused on the concrete bridge leading to the main house and stopped to listen to our guide, Rod, who directed us to look at the plunge pool with the bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz set on the edge of the low stone wall enclosing it.

He explained to us that the Kaufmanns liked to get up in the morning and take a dip. Bear Run isn’t a swimming stream, so they would walk down the steps descending from the hatch in the living room and wade into the 4.5-foot-deep pool. Fed by a freshwater spring, its waters remain a brisk 55 degrees Fahrenheit (12 degrees Celsius) year-round. In fact on her first day at Fallingwater, Elsie Henderson, a Black woman who worked as a cook for the Kaufmann family, got an eyeful. She heard laughter from the kitchen window. When she looked outside she saw Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., his wife Liliane, and their guests frolicking in the chilly waters nude and remarked “what have I gotten myself into!”

The bronze sculpture Mother and Child by French artist Jacques Lipchitz depicts a legless mother with a child clinging to her back. It holds pride of place at the plunge pool.

We continued our walking tour and followed Rod to the back of the house, where the main entrance is concealed beneath a rectangular trellis covering the carport. This was by design: Wright wanted the Kaufmann’s to feel sheltered and secure. 

Fallingwater’s kitchen was so renowned for its ultramodern features and functionality that many suppliers were eager to promote the use of their products at the residence.

Fallingwater’s Kitchen of Tomorrow 

Before our group entered the main house we took a detour to the kitchen. Although small by today’s standards it was both functional and beautiful. Wright considered the kitchen to be a workspace, not a gathering place for the family. It was run by the indefatigable Elsie Henderson from 1946 to 1964, when the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy took over the house. 

After working for the Kaufmanns, Henderson went on to cook for the Kennedys in Hyannis Port. She returned to Pittsburgh to live out her life and passed away there in 2021 at the age of 107!

Henderson had an unobstructed view of the West Terrace, which features a cast iron Sung Dynasty (960-1279) Buddha head purchased by the Kaufmanns in 1951. Wright supposedly chose its placement himself. 

The house was completed in the mid-1930s and its kitchen featured modern amenities that were considered modern at the time. For example the countertops and Wright-designed work table were made of Formica, a recently patented laminate material. Kaufmann Sr. learned about it earlier than the general public because it was invented by engineers at Westinghouse Research Laboratories in 1935. The floor is made up of custom colored rubber tiles in Cherokee red, one of Wright’s signature colors. 

The goldenrod enameled steel cabinets in the kitchen came from St. Charles, an Illinois-based company that specialized in factory-made modular units and the preferred choice of Wright. St. Charles was a popular brand at the time, and were known for their high quality and durability. 

The kitchen also included a turquoise-lined Frigidaire refrigerator, a Kitchen-Aid dishwasher, double sinks, double warming trays and a wood-burning AGA Range Cooker, a technological marvel from Sweden and the invention of the Nobel Prize-winning physicist, Gustaf Dalén.

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. The wood-burning AGA Range Cooker at Fallingwater was always radiating heat, which was probably not very pleasant in the summer.

AGA stoves were very expensive, but they were also very efficient. The stove had to burn all the time, and it didn’t have knobs or settings to adjust the temperature. 

Eventually Henderson complained about the amount of heat radiating from the stove and the Kaufmanns had it replaced with an AGA electric model.

The best seats in the house have a pair of earthenware wine decanters on either side of the built-in living room sofa.

Compression and Release: Entering the Living Room

The Kaufmanns kept a collection of walking sticks outside for guests to use on hikes. After their walks in the woods, guests could return to the house to wash their hands and feet at the small basin located between a pair of Pottsville sandstone support columns outside the entrance. 

Rod pointed out that we were being compressed before being released into the living room, a technique that Wright was well known for. As our group entered the monumental room, we immediately felt a sense of release. The open 1,800-square-foot interior space is the ultimate family gathering space. It has a central, symmetrical raised cove ceiling that uses diffused indirect fluorescent tube lighting. Edgar jr., the only son and child of Edgar J. Kaufmann, Sr., (E.J.), and Liliane, had seen this type of lighting used in a commercial application and requested that Wright integrate it into the design.

The living room also has a dining nook with a built-in table . Although it’s set for four, it could be extended using leaves stored in the buffet behind it.

Rod explained to us that everything inside Fallingwater is original to the Kaufmanns’ use of the home. Many of its objects and furnishings came from their eponymous Pittsburgh-based department store.

The Kaufmanns collaborated with the best suppliers in the country to create a truly unique home. Pittsburgh Plate Glass (PPG) rushed in the glass, while Armstrong supplied the cork flooring and wall tile — both firms headquartered in Pittsburgh. DuPont supplied the paint, Dunlop the foam rubber, Thrush the heating and Hope’s the steel window frames.

To keep unwanted hands off Fallingwater’s treasures, Rod asked our group to avoid leaning against, sitting on or touching anything inside the house.

He added that we’d be using the stairs and since Fallingwater was built before building codes, they’re aren’t any railings. With this in mind, visitors are allowed to use the ledges above the exposed sandstone walls to safely navigate the interior staircases.

Victor Hammer’s The Excursion, an oil portrait of E.J. as a hiker, with a walking stick, commissioned by Liliane in 1929 hangs opposite the dining room table.

There’s a music alcove near the entrance where the Kaufmanns would listen to records on their Capehart stereo turntable, and a reading alcove where they could sit and read. E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. were academics who enjoyed spending time in their home surrounded by music and books.

The mod-looking Wright-designed banquettes are where the Kaufmanns would listen to music. Note the cabinet to the left that stored the turntable and records.

Facing the windows is a wood library desk designed by Wright and built around one of the room’s stone support columns. It’s a masterpiece of design, and incorporates all four of the main design motifs found throughout the house: horizontal lines, cantilevers, circles and semi-circles. There’s even a lozenge-shaped shelf that echoes the shape of the hatch behind the desk, which leads down to the stream.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright dictated that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or removed. His profound respect for nature resulted in a home that’s beautifully integrated into its natural surroundings. The boulder that forms the foundation of the house was incorporated into the room and serves as the hearth. Wright was quoted as saying, “The rock on which E.J. sits will be the hearth, coming right out of the floor, the fire burning just behind it.”

The hearth of Fallingwater with one of the original wooden stump stools used by the Kaufmanns serves as a mini bar.

A round, Cherokee red kettle hangs on the left side of the fireplace, nestled into a concave indentation that fits it perfectly. It was meant to swing out over the fire to serve mulled wine, however it was ultimately relegated to being a conversation piece since the metal was so thick it took 10 hours to heat up.

The spherical cauldron is pretty to look at, but not so great at heating mulled wine. The wrought iron fireplace trident was forged by master metalsmith Samuel Yellen, and is from La Tourelle, the main Kaufmann residence in Fox Chapel, Pennsylvania.

In the dining area, Wright designed the built-in dining table and incorporated leaves into the sideboard that can be attached to the table to accommodate additional guests. Wright had wanted to pair the table with his more formal Barrel Chair, but Liliane prevailed, having purchased rustic three-legged wooden peasant chairs at a second-hand shop in Florence, Italy, which she felt were more appropriate for their country retreat.

Although Wright lost that battle he did design additional custom pieces for the living room, including occasional tables, banquettes, and zabutons (low wood-framed footstools) upholstered in warm hues of golden-yellow and red-orange. The zabutons represent one of the earliest uses of latex foam, a material suggested by Edgar jr. 

Wright’s free-floating elements were easy to move around and, most importantly, never blocked the view of nature outside. And many were made of wood, which the architect described “as the most humanely intimate of all materials.”

To give the flagstone floors throughout the house a wet look, Wright specified Johnson’s Glo-Coat, a wax that created a glossy sheen — drawing a parallel to the river rooks of the stream below. Wright chose that product because he was commissioned to design the Johnson Wax Building in Racine, Wisconsin while completing Fallingwater. Talk about product placement!

Our guide Rod sharing stories with our group about Fallingwater.

After our group had finished exploring the room, Rod shared an interesting story with us about a visitor he had on a previous tour who said, “In 1956, I was a Boy Scout in a local troop here.” A freak tornado had hit the area, and a debris jam built up, causing the stream flowing beneath Fallingwater to overflow into the first floor of the house. “After the flood, Edgar Sr. invited our troop in to help clean up as a service project,” the man has said. 

The visitor went on to explain that Elsie Henderson fed them, and they placed their sleeping bags on the floor of the living room. He continued, “I slept on that rock there,” pointing to one of the waxed flagstones.

The guest bedroom at Fallingwater includes a chromed-metal carafe by the American Thermos Bottle Company and a conté crayon drawing by Diego Rivera.

The Guest Bedroom

We followed Rod up the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor. There are a total of four bedrooms in the main house. Each has its own bathroom, private terrace and fireplace, with the exception of the guest bedroom. The headboard is large enough to accommodate two beds, but because the room is quite small, one bed was removed to make room for tour groups. 

On the wall is Profile of a Man Wearing a Hat, a Conté crayon drawing by Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. This is the only room in the whole house with blinds because Liliane’s private terrace can be seen outside the window.

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READ ABOUT FRIDA KAHLO, one of the most famous Fallingwater guests — and one of the most scandalous as well!

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The narrow passageways on the second and third floors of Fallingwater are, again, designed to create a sense of compression. This helps make the terraces feel even more spacious and inviting when you step outside. With nearly equal square footage inside and out, the spatial quality of the terraces make it obvious that the outdoors are the home’s raison d’être.

The Kaufmanns were initially hesitant when Wright insisted on building the house over the waterfall. They had often visited the site to sunbathe, party and picnic with their friends, and they weren’t sure that they wanted to live so close to the rushing water. Wright was insistent that the house be built in this location. He told Kaufmann, “I want you to live with your waterfall, not just look at it.” He also wanted the sound of the waterfall to be the “music of the house,” and its sound can be heard in every room. 

The built-in wardrobes are made of marine-grade plywood veneered with North Carolina black walnut. Note the sap line which runs vertically, referencing Wright's earth line. The wardrobe also include mildew resistant rattan shelving inside.

Liliane Kaufmann’s Bedroom 

Although Edgar jr. desired to change the narrative surrounding his parents marriage, the room he renamed the Master bedroom was his mother Liliane’s. Separate rooms weren’t unusual for affluent couples in the 1920s and ’30s, as it was seen as a sign of luxury and privacy.

All of the woodwork at Fallingwater use marine-grade plywood, which was chosen because it’s resistant to warping in humid environments. The plywood was veneered with North Carolina black walnut, and was cut and milled by the Gillen Company in Milwaukee, the successor to the defunct Matthews Brothers Company, which Wright had used for his Prairie style houses.

This was done so that the sap line of the walnut tree would run horizontally, referencing Wright’s earth line. The only exception is the doors, where the sap line runs vertically to balance things visually.

The room has a collection of impressive artworks, including Fumeur, a Picasso aquatint, a Tiffany lotus lamp on the desk and Horikiri No Hanashobu (Iris Garden at Horikiri), a Japanese woodblock print by Ando Hiroshige. Sheltered within the niche of Liliane’s fireplace is an Austro-Bohemian Madonna and Child carved around 1420 CE (her favorite piece of art in the home.)

The niche above Liliane’s fireplace was custom-built to fit her favorite work of art at Fallingwater, a 15th century Madonna and Child.

At Rod’s instruction, our group proceeded down the hall and into Edgar Sr.’s bedroom. 

A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto sit atop the desk in E.J.’s bedroom. The desk has a semicircular cutout that allows the window to open without hitting it.

E.J.’s Bedroom 

Using Juniors naming system Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is sometimes referred to as E.J.’s dressing room or E.J.’s study. The built-in desk features a semi-circular cutout so the corner window can swing open unimpeded. A bust of Edgar jr. by Harlem Renaissance sculptor Richmond Barthé and a Savoy vase designed by Alvar Aalto in 1936 sit on top of the desk. 

One of the most striking features which can be seen from Edgar Sr.’s bedroom is the light screen, which runs vertically through the all three levels of the house. When viewed from the exterior, the vertical shaft of glass serves to balance the structural stone masses and maintain the house’s transparency. Wright was attempting to destroy the box of the traditional American home. He was bucking the International Style of the Bauhaus School in Germany. The casement windows here open outward, allowing their corners to vanish. 

A rustic limestone sculpture by self-taught Mexican artist Mardonio Magaña sits on E.J.’s terrace. The Kaufmanns fell in love with his work when they visited Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul in Coyoacán, Mexico.

A pair of Japanese woodblock prints, including Kōzuke Sano funabashi no kozu (Old View of the Boat-Bridge at Sano) by Katsushika Hokusai, circa 1830, and Street Scene on the Giroza-Yedo by Ando Hiroshige are on display. Six prints in total were given as gifts by Wright to the Kaufmann family. The original mat of Street Scene on the Ginza-Yedo bears the inscription, “to Junior: at Taliesin, Aug. 14, 1951.”

Wright liked to work with odd numbers. To balance the room, there are three semicircular shelves next to the bed. These symbolically represent the three family members of Fallingwater: E.J., Liliane and Edgar jr. 

The adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside lead to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom on the third floor.

The zigzag adobe-style steps leading from the terrace outside Edgar Sr.’s second-floor bedroom to Edgar jr.’s study and bedroom in the third-floor penthouse are more form than function. They likely saw very little, if any, foot traffic, and, incidentally, put unnecessary stress on the terrace below.

A collection of books and sculptural objects grace the shelves of Junior’s third floor study.

Junior’s Bedroom and Study

On the third floor was the lair of the Kaufmanns’ son, Edgar jr. It consists of a stairwell library, a small den used as a drafting studio, and bedroom. The den also features cornerless windows. Junior’s sleeping alcove is at the eastern end of the passage. He preferred to be woken up by the early morning sun that streamed in through the spot created by the design of the bridge over the driveway.

Jean Arp’s abstract white marble Méditerranée II and Lyonel Feininger’s watercolor and ink on paper Church on the Cliffs VII are on view in Edgar jr.’s study.

Junior’s room wasn’t large — but it had a great view of the sunrise.

We exited Junior’s bedroom via a set of stairs and met at the second floor bridge connecting Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house. 

A 28-inch-tall stone statue of the Hindu goddess Parvati from India, circa 750 CE, rests atop a boulder at the end of the covered passageway, accompanied by a freshly cut bunch of rhododendron leaves.

Bridge to the Guest House 

The so-called “bridge” to connect Fallingwater’s main house to the guest house is actually a covered hall about 17 feet long that dead-ends at a boulder was left intact at the end of the passageway. There are five skylights equipped with bulbs so they can double as nightlights. 

We continued up a set of stairs and paused in front of the cast stone statue Serena, another work by Richmond Barthé. The subject is Rose McClendon, a leading African American Broadway actress of the 1920s and the co-founder of the Negro People’s Theatre in Harlem.

While designing Fallingwater, Wright insisted that no rocks or boulders were to be destroyed or moved.

The semicircular cascading concrete canopy resembles folded Japanese origami and extends from the cantilevered trellis of the guest house. The material defies logic and has an incredible lightness, supported only by slender steel posts. The flanges flare out on the way up, but seem to disappear on the way down: Painted Cherokee red, the posts start at almost 7 feet tall and continue to less than 4 feet.

A slatted wood partition wall was used to divide the room without building a wall.

Guest House Living Room

The Guest House at Fallingwater was completed in 1939 and offered additional space and privacy for guests. One of the first things you’ll notice is that the ceilings are noticeably higher than the main house. Or maybe the small, asymmetric fireplace is what catches your eye.

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, hangs over the guesthouse bed.

Guest House Bedroom 

Rod told us that Liliane actually favored the seclusion and cross ventilation from the clerestory in the north wall of the guest house to her bedroom in the main house in the heat of the summer. 

Landscape: Jalapa, Mexico, an 1877 painting by Jose Maria Velasco, a mentor of Diego Rivera, hangs over the guesthouse bed. The Kaufmann family acquired the painting around 1937 for $500. It originally hung in Edgar Sr.’s apartment at the William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh until 1954, when it was moved to its current location.

Fallingwater’s bathrooms feature cork walls and floors, a soft and durable material. The toilets are also low, inspired by Wright’s time in Japan.

Every piece in the Kaufmann family’s collection has a story to tell. There’s a chair in the corner of the guest house bedroom from the home of Irving Washington, author of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The Barrel Chair at the desk is Wright’s adaptation from an earlier design for the Darwin Martin House in Buffalo, New York.

Doors lead out to the 30-foot-long, 6-foot-deep spring-fed swimming pool on the terrace of the guest house. This was the result of a compromise between the Kaufmanns, who viewed swimming and sunning as an indispensable part of their enjoyment at Bear Run, and Wright, who resisted the idea of an artificial pool so close to a natural source of water. 

The swimming pool is spring-fed and located on the terrace of the guest house.

An incredible amount of labor went into the construction of Fallingwater. The main contractor responsible for the masonry work was Walter J. Hall, a self-taught stone mason from Northern Pennsylvania, whose earlier construction, Lynn Hall, a roadside inn outside of Port Allegheny, won him the role. Hall taught the unskilled laborers how to construct walls using Pottsville sandstone. Minimum wage at the time was 25 cents an hour! By the time the guest house was built, the stone masons had honed their skills to perfection.

Our guide Rod was a great storyteller and extremely knowledgeable about the design and construction of Fallingwater. One of the best parts of the In-Depth Guided Tour was that we were able to take pictures both inside and outside of the house. Other tour options don’t allow photography beyond the first floor, so be sure to choose the one that’s right for you.

Whether you love or hate Frank Lloyd Wright the man, there’s no denying that his buildings are impressive. Fallingwater was every bit as fascinating as the photos you see online, and it was a truly unforgettable experience. –Duke

A view of the West Terrace and Sung Dynasty Buddha head.

Fallingwater

1491 Mill Run Road
Mill Run, Pennsylvania 15464
USA

 

Frank Lloyd Wright and Edgar J. Kaufmann: The Collaboration That Became Fallingwater

Dive into the fascinating story behind Fallingwater, from its geological origins to its current status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The Kaufmanns on one of the balconies at Fallingwater: E.J., Junior and Liliane

Unlike our visit to Graycliff, another Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home, where the weather forecast called for rain but miraculously cleared up by the time we arrived, the conditions at Fallingwater were not so kind. But the steady mist-like drizzle coming down on the rooftop covering the Visitors Center boardwalk didn’t dampen our anticipation for the afternoon In-Depth Guided Tour of Fallingwater. The nonprofit Western Pennsylvania Conservancy (WPC) offers various tours, which include a one-hour guided house tour, two-hour in-depth tour, brunch tour and sunset tour.

Pro tip: Book your tickets at least two weeks prior to guarantee admission to this popular attraction. Weekends fill up quickly. We booked ours about a month in advance.

Our group gathered in the Visitors Center around our docent, who welcomed us to the UNESCO World Heritage Site and introduced himself as Rod. He asked where everyone was from and if anyone had been to any Wright-designed homes or buildings before. As we shared our stories, it became clear that we were among other individuals who held a reverence for the architect’s prolific and unmistakable style. 

Kaufmann’s was once a legendary (and massive) department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now a Target.

Brought to You by Pittsburgh’s Big Department Store

Edgar J. Kaufmann and his wife, Liliane, the couple who commissioned Fallingwater, were also the owners of a popular Pittsburgh department store located at the corner of 5th Avenue and Smithfield Street. Like Marshall Field’s in Chicago, Kaufmann’s was a regional destination for shoppers to discover the latest in fashion, art and design.

In 2005, Federated acquired the store and continued to operate as Macy’s until 2015, when it closed its doors for good. The first floor has since been transformed into a Target, which opened in the summer of 2022. 

The Kaufmanns were wealthy, but they were also beloved in southwestern Pennsylvania. Their department store brought good taste and good design to the area at prices that people could actually afford. They were popular for their business model: They’d rather sell a hundred items at a penny profit each than sell one item for a dollar profit.

The dramatic cantilevers at Fallingwater are Wright’s way of mirroring the sandstone outcroppings in the area.

From Sea to Timeworn Sandstone: A Brief Geological History of the Site 

Rod offered us green umbrellas to take with us on our journey. “From experience,” he added, “make sure it works. Our umbrellas lead a pretty tough life here.” The color of the umbrellas complemented the natural surroundings, a detail that Wright himself would have undoubtedly appreciated. As we followed Rod down the gravel path leading to Fallingwater, he spoke about the geologic history of the site.

He stopped and gestured to the lush, hilly landscape before us. “As we walk down towards the house, I’d like to provide a brief timeline for you,” he began. “We’re standing at 1,400 feet above sea level due to a cataclysmic event that occurred over 400 million years ago.” He continued, “The tremendous pressure of the continental plates colliding caused the Earth’s surface to fold and buckle, creating the long, winding ridges of the Appalachian Mountains.

“However, 600 million years ago, this region was at the bottom of a sandy, shallow inland sea. Over millions of years, the inland sea drained, and the mountains were worn down by wind, weather and water,” Rod said. “The sedimentary deposit that was left behind was compacted and compressed to form Pottsville sandstone.”

Wright first visited the site of Fallingwater with Edgar Kaufmann Sr. to examine the natural landscape. He saw the weathered, horizontal lines of the sandstone outcroppings and referred to this as the “earth line” — and it became the inspiration for the layered stone walls and cantilevered terraces that mirror the natural environment.

Cantilever, you ask? It’s something that projects horizontally beyond its support, like a diving board, firmly anchored at one end and floating free at the other. You’ll see they feature prominently in the home’s design. 

One of the original wood cabins at what became Camp Kaufmann

Setting Up Camp at Bear Run

The Kaufmanns would flee Pittsburgh’s sweltering summers and infamously smoky air for the rolling hills and clear streams of Fayette County, Pennsylvania. In 1916, E.J. Kaufmann, as Edgar Sr. was known, began leasing a parcel of land at Bear Run from the Pittsburgh Freemasons. The grounds included the former Syria Country Club lodge, which E.J. renamed Camp Kaufmann.

Every summer, a third of Kaufmann’s department store employees would visit and stay in one of the many cabins that dotted the property. The camp was a place for employees to relax and enjoy the outdoors. They would hike, swim, fish and play games.

Not a bad perk: Employees of Kaufmann’s department store could go to the camp in the woods and swim under the waterfall.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

In 1926, Kaufmann’s department store purchased the land and cabins from the Freemasons. However, the Great Depression forced it to quickly get out of the camp business. So, in 1933, E.J. assumed ownership of the land with the intent of building a modern weekend home. That same year, he showered his mistress Josephine Bennett Waxman with a quarter-million dollars’ worth of diamond and platinum jewels. The affair fizzled, but made headlines when E.J. attempted to return the jewelry to rival department store Horne’s, which sued him for non-payment.

Edgar jr. (left) worked for Wright (center) at Taliesin in Wisconsin. He introduced the architect to his father — and a beautiful partnership was begun.

As fate would have it, his artistically inclined son, Edgar jr., was studying with Wright at the Taliesin Fellowship in Spring Green, Wisconsin. During that time, Junior introduced his parents to the architect, and E.J. and Liliane decided to hire Wright to design their new home.

When Wright was hired to design Fallingwater, E.J. also commissioned him to create his executive office on the top floor of the flagship department store in Pittsburgh. It’s now on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. 

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy

A Patronage of Epic Scale 

The Kaufmanns and Wright were kindred spirits. They shared Wright’s conviction that good design could transform the lives of those it touched and believed that architecture should be in harmony with the natural world. Wright was a passionate advocate for organic architecture. He believed that buildings should be designed to complement their natural surroundings, and he often used local materials and natural forms in his designs. He once said, “I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.”

By the time E.J. met the architect, Wright was 67 years old and had not completed a major project in a decade. He was widely considered a has-been by architectural critics — but Fallingwater would mark a turning point in his career.

Talk about a comeback: Wright and Fallingwater on the cover of Time

The woodland retreat in rural southwestern Pennsylvania had already gained international prominence before it was even completed. In January 1938, photographs taken by John McAndrew were exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City and subsequently published in Architectural Forum magazine. Additionally, Wright was featured on the cover of Time with his drawing of Fallingwater behind him, proclaiming it to be his most beautiful work.

After the success of Fallingwater, Wright’s career took off again. He went on to design over 400 projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Of these, approximately 200 were built, and about 79 have since been demolished or destroyed by fire. Wright died in 1959 at the age of 91.

Wright and E.J. maintained a lifelong friendship and collaborated on many projects, although only three of them were ever realized: Fallingwater, the guest house and Edgar’s executive office.

Not without my dachshund! Liliane liked to bring her six dogs on weekends at Fallingwater.

The Kaufmanns’ main home, La Tourelle, was an Anglo-Norman style country estate in Fox Chapel, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh. The family had two options to reach their weekend home. They could take a train from Pittsburgh to the depot at the bottom of Bear Run, where the creek flows into the Youghiogheny River. (The last time the B&O line stopped here was in 1975). Or they could be chauffeured by car. Liliane preferred the latter because she liked to travel with her six long-haired show dachshunds.

Before his death, Edgar jr. entrusted Fallingwater to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy so it would always remain open to the public for all time.

Fallingwater: A Landmark Legacy

The house that has become an architectural legend was home to tragedy, though. On September 7, 1952, Liliane died of a sleeping pill overdose at Fallingwater at the age of 64. Three years later, E.J. died of bone cancer at 69. Their son, Edgar jr., inherited Fallingwater. 

The Kaufmanns didn’t have the best marriage. Edgar’s infidelities may have led Liliane to take her own life by overdoing on pills at Fallingwater.

Junior worked at MoMA from 1941 to 1955 and was an adjunct professor of architecture and art history at Columbia University in New York. 

In 1963, he entrusted the house and surrounding 5,100 acres of property, along with a $500,000 endowment, to the WPC to protect, conserve and, most importantly, assure that the home remains open to the public in perpetuity. 

Junior was gay and had a long-term relationship with Paul Mayén, a Spanish architect and industrial designer. Mayén's influence can be seen throughout the sunburst-shaped visitors pavilion, which was built under his supervision in 1980 by the Pittsburgh-based architectural firm Curry, Martin & Highberger. The complex complements its natural surroundings and makes great use of materials such as cedar, glass and concrete. I think Wright would have approved.

Paul Mayén, Edgar jr. and friend on the west terrace at Fallingwater. The men had a relationship for over 30 years.

Used with permission from the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy. 

Edgar jr. loved Fallingwater and when he visited Pittsburgh, he would often come and secretly lead tours. At the end of each, Rod told us, Junior would shock the group by asking, “Well, what do you think of my house?” –Duke

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RELATED: Frida, Diego and Fallingwater

Frida Kahlo visited Fallingwater (and seduced a fellow guest there!).

Learn more about her and Diego Rivera’s connection to the Kaufmanns and their iconic home.

The Charnley-Persky House in Chicago: America’s First Modern Home?

Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright collaborated on this sleek, minimal home that defied the ostentatiousness of the Gilded Age. Step back in time and tour this innovative but little-known architectural gem.

Imagine what people thought of a home like this — sleek, modern, horizontal — at a time when Victorians were all the rage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

When dealing with such legendary icons of the architectural world as Louis Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright, it’s not surprising that towering egos and intense rivalry come into play. But with the iconic Charnley-Persky House in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood, who actually deserves the accolades?

“Wright wrote that he had designed the Charnley-Persky House entirely on his own.

The claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. ”

Helen Charnley

The Charnleys Want a “Country” Home

Let’s start at the beginning to try to unravel this mystery. In 1891, Sullivan, 34, and his then-23-year-old apprentice, Wright, teamed up to design a residential masterpiece on Astor Street for their wealthy clients, James and Helen Charnley.

The couple were members of the one-percenters of the Gilded Age. James was a banker who made his fortune in lumber, and Helen’s father was president of the Illinois Central Railroad. 

At the time, Sullivan and his partner, Dankmar Adler, were basically the cool kids of the architecture world. They had designed the Auditorium Theater Building in 1889, which is still world-renowned for its acoustics. Business was good.

While many of Adler & Sullivan’s 180-some commissions were for commercial spaces, they also designed about 60 residences. Unfortunately, most of them are no longer standing. In fact, the Charnley-Persky House is the only residence designed by Sullivan that you can still tour today.

So how did the Charnleys manage to snag Sullivan as their architect? Well, it turns out that James’ brother, Albert, was an executive at the Illinois Central Railroad. As our guide, Jean, joked, “The rich like to hang out with other rich people.” 

Adler & Sullivan’s architectural drawing of the James Charnley home

But why did the Charnleys choose this location? They were ahead of the curve. While the Gold Coast is now an affluent neighborhood, at the time it wasn’t exactly a hot spot. In fact, even though it’s not that far north of downtown, it was considered the countryside.

Three-quarters of a mile in one direction, you would reach the Chicago River. Go three-quarters of a mile in the other direction, and you’d find yourself in a notorious slum charmingly known as Little Hell. It was gnamed for the smell of sulfur from the coal gas furnaces that permeated the air. It was so dangerous that even the police wouldn’t go there, Jean told us. (What did that neighborhood eventually become? The infamous Cabrini Green housing project.)

So how did this land become prime real estate? Well, Potter Palmer, Chicago’s richest resident at the time, had a lot to do with it. He built his own home on the corner of Lake Shore Drive, spending a whopping $1 million back in 1882. The house was called “the Castle” for its size and design. 

“Of course, it raised the value of all the land around it,” Jean said. “And so it started to get developed very quickly after that.”

You can see why the Palmer home was called the Castle. It helped make the Gold Coast a hot new housing market.

Sadly, no one could afford to keep up the Castle, and it was razed in 1950. 

Before that, this area was owned by the archdiocese, with parts of it acting as a Catholic cemetery, and the only other building in sight was the archbishop’s residence.

The Charnleys’ first home in the undeveloped Gold Coast neighborhood of Chicago was a site of heartbreak. Note the Palmer Castle under construction in the background.

The Charnleys Join the Neighborhood 

The Charnleys built their first home on Division and Lake Shore Drive, but lost their two young daughters (ages 4 and 6) to diphtheria shortly after moving in. The memories of that house weren’t happy, so they decided to have this one built instead. It was never intended to be a family home. They had larger homes in the suburbs of Lake Forest and Evanston, so this was simply their pied-à-terre in the city, Jean explained.

Even today, it stands out from its neighbors with its modern design, a product of Sullivan’s experimental phase.

After the Charnley’s departure, the house went through several owners, including the Waller family, who had a member living there until 1969. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) bought the house next for the headquarters of the Chicago Institute for Architecture and Urbanism and restored it. 

“They didn’t stay here long. But fortunately, they had deep pockets,” Jean said. “So they were able to restore the structure to the way it was, which no private owner could do before them.”

Philanthropist Seymour Persky later bought the house and let the Society of Architectural Historians (SAH) move their headquarters there from Philadelphia. This allowed the house to continue to stand and be appreciated for its architectural significance. As a token of its gratitude, the society added Persky’s name to the home. 

Bustling State Street in the 1890s, when Chicago was one of the fastest-growing cities in the world

Gilded Age Chicago

To put the time period into context, Chicago underwent exponential growth and development during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. 

In 1880 the city’s population was 500,000; in 1890 it had doubled to 1 million; and in 1910 it had doubled yet again to 2.2 million. 

“At that time, the turn of that century, it was the fastest-growing city in the world,” Jean said. “Of course, that’s a thing of the past now. But it was a very new, vibrant, lively, energetic city with lots of money, lots of wealth, lots of disease, lots of extremes.”

Rudyard Kipling visited Chicago around this time and declared, “I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages.” Rude. 

In 1889, the Chicago Sanitary District was formed to reverse the flow of the Chicago River, which had been dumping waste into Lake Michigan and contaminating the city’s drinking water. A New York Times article from the time said that the water in the Chicago River “now resembles liquid.” (Sorry, St. Louis!)

As Jean pointed out, the tail end of the Gilded Age in Chicago was a time of juxtaposition, when typhoid epidemics and inaugural symphony concerts were happening simultaneously. 

Start your tour of the Charnley-Persky House Museum where the servants used to spend most of their time, in the basement. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Basement/Visitors center of the Charnley-Persky House 

Our tour of the Charnley-Persky House began in the basement, which is the visitors center. This floor was strictly for the servants’ use, so the family had no reason to come down here.

The basement contains a kitchen, boiler room, laundry room, bathroom, root cellar and butler’s pantry with a dumbwaiter.

The soapstone sink has a concrete basin. “I think the reason it’s still here is because it’s too heavy to move,” Jean speculated. “Some things are just too inconvenient to destroy.”

Overall, the house presented some design challenges, starting with its narrow footprint. It has 4,500 square feet spread across four floors — but it’s only 25 feet deep from one wall to the other. It’s essentially designed in the space of a row house, but with the entrance on the long side instead of the short side. 

What’s impressive is how Sullivan and Wright got creative with elements of the home’s design. Originally, another house was planned to be built against the back wall, so there were no windows on that side. The architects added interior windows to bring light into the space. How sweet of them to consider the welfare of the servants.

The Charnleys were lucky (err, rich) enough to have hot water in the home. When it came to heating, Sullivan and Wright went against the norm by hanging the hot water radiator below the floor — and saved a lot of room in the dining room upstairs.

This genius feature hides the radiator and saves all that space from making the dining room above more cramped. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

There’s a door off to the side of the main room that leads to the coal cellar. It’s actually built under the sidewalk, and a manhole out front offered access for delivery men to shovel coal in.

Higher-end Roman bricks were used on the front of the home, with cheaper Chicago common bricks at the back. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The Façade of the Charnley-Persky House

Most of the homes in the Gold Coast neighborhood are grandiose 19th century Victorian row houses with sharp vertical lines and elaborate ornamentation on their windows, doors, porches — basically everywhere. Many are made of rusticated brownstone and sport an asymmetrical design.

So one thing that sets the Charnley-Persky House apart is its horizontal layout.

“There’s nothing like it anywhere around here — even now,” Jean pointed out. 

Chicago was a brick-making center in the 1890s, manufacturing about 600 million bricks a year. This house reflects that. On the back side, Chicago common brick was used. Uneven in color and crumbly, they were made from clay in the Chicago River. They were also much cheaper than other types of brick. However, the front and sides of the home feature more expensive Roman brick and natural limestone.

The front door of the house. You can see the importance of horizontal planes and symmetry in the home’s design. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

In the design, Sullivan exaggerated the horizontal planes. The natural limestone goes all the way across the front section and the side. There’s a balcony that spans the front. It has pillars, but they are short and squat. The Roman brick is narrow. And you can’t see the low-hipped roof at all.

The design is notable for its lack of ornamentation around the windows and doors. “Sullivan wanted the mass of the building itself to be present to us, and not to cover it up with all kinds of frills and doodads — that’s the architectural term,” Jean joked.

Also in stark contrast to its neighbors, the house is completely symmetrical, with the front door and balcony in the center and the same number of windows on each side. 

The house is devoid of decoration, aside from the metalwork on the balcony, which features some of Sullivan’s recurring motifs. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Looking at the design of the Charnley-Persky House, there are a few key motifs worth noting. One of these is the incised pattern on the balcony, which can be seen throughout the building, including the front door. Sullivan loved to incorporate organic shapes and patterns into his work, and he often referred to the pointed oval motif as a seed pod. 

“He put them on every single thing he designed,” Jean said. “Everything, even down to the tombs in Graceland Cemetery.”

Sullivan was certainly ahead of his time with this house. He was so proud of it that he advertised it in architecture magazines in England, promoting it as the first American modern design. 

Louis Sullivan, on the left, most likely designed the Charnley-Persky House — but that didn’t stop Wright, on the right, from taking credit later in life.

The Sullivan and Wright Controversy 

Wright was working as a draftsman for Sullivan at the time the Charnley-Persky House was built. Evidence shows that Adler and Sullivan, well-established architects at the peak of their business, would design the entire plan of the house, including the decoration and wood choices. Then, Wright would fill in some of the details. 

“So, while there are some unique elements that may be Wright’s additions, the overall design was likely a collaboration between the three architects,” Jean informed us. 

But that’s not what Wright claimed. In his 1932 autobiography, Wright wrote that he had designed the house entirely on his own. And the claim couldn’t be refuted, as Sullivan had passed away in 1924, and the firm’s records had burned in a fire. 

“Sullivan and Wright were very close, until they weren’t,” Jean said. “They both had very big egos.”

Wright left Adler & Sullivan in 1893. He claimed he was fired for moonlighting, building other houses on his own.

“But evidence suggests Sullivan didn’t care,” Jean went on. “I think Sullivan said, ‘You’re fired.’ And Wright said, ‘You can’t fire me — I quit.’ It was one of those situations. I think Wright had reached a point where he had the skills and the confidence to leave and go on his own.”

Jean added that Sullivan was an alcoholic and very difficult to get along with, while Wright was brilliant and visionary. 

The narrow entrance hall at the home, where the fireplace takes center stage. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Inside the Charnley-Persky House: The Foyer

Step inside, and the first thing you notice is the foyer fireplace, which boasts original mosaic designs that echo flickering flames. The flue is hidden underneath the stairs and goes up the back. The fireplace has no mantel, which allows for an unobstructed view and emphasizes those horizontal lines that are a hallmark of Sullivan’s style.

Sullivan incorporated elements of the Arts and Crafts movement, which highlighted craftsmanship and natural materials. The use of wood as the main decorative element and the incorporation of organic motifs, such as oak leaves and acorns, were typical of this style.

Wide, expensive white oak panels feature prominently. Remember, Charnley was in the lumber biz. 

Those skylights illuminating the stairwell and landings is something you’d typically find in commercial buildings — not a family home. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The design of the Charnley-Persky House reflects Sullivan’s experience with commercial buildings, as well as his innovative approach to residential design. The atrium and skylight, which were more commonly found in commercial buildings, allowed for natural light and air to flow through the home. This was a departure from the typical dark, closed-off interiors of Victorian homes.

To either side of the door are cozy alcoves. The Charnleys didn’t leave any letters, diaries or photos, so we have no idea how the family used these spaces. However, there’s only one sitting room, so it’s possible that these alcoves served as small reception areas for guests before entering the dining room.

No one’s quite sure what the Charnleys used the alcoves to either side of the front door for. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

According to the 1900 census, the Charnley family had two live-in Swedish servant girls. “You know,” Jean said. “You’re a servant girl until you’re at least 80.” The “girls” did the cooking, cleaning and everything else that needed to be done around the house.

The dining room at the Charnley-Persky House was much less elaborate than most in the Gilded Age. Photo by David Schalliol

The Dining Room

Wide, beaded paneling was all the rage back then. You could buy strips of beaded wood and simply glue them onto a surface. Sullivan kept the room plain and modern, aside from the fireplace. The richly carved mahogany mantle with a stylized four-point seed pod motif, surrounded by a vegetal pattern, is set above African rose marble tiles imported from England.

“I don’t know why they’re not from Chicago. We made everything else,” Jean mused. “But anyway, that’s where they’re from.”

The rose marble tiles of the fireplace in the dining room came from Britain, while pretty much everything else was locally sourced.

The buffet isn’t original, but the woodwork suggests that there was probably a built-in piece of furniture there at some point. So the folks at SOM custom-designed one to fit in. Look closely: Its design mimics that of the house exterior.

Unusual for the more-is-more Gilded Age, there are no parquet floors or ledges to be filled with statues, crystal and the like.

The Charnleys were quiet folk who didn’t entertain much. In addition to the deaths of their daughters, James was diagnosed with Bright’s disease in the mid-1890s. This chronic kidney inflammation had no treatment or cure — it was a one-way ticket to the grave. He survived only 10 years after his diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the Charnleys couldn’t catch a break. James’ brother and sister-in-law ran off with $100,000 from the Fourth Presbyterian Church. Their two sons felt such shame at their parents’ actions that they both committed suicide.

“Money really cannot buy you everything,” Jean said.

But there’s a glimmer of happiness in this sad tale. Enter Seymour Persky, the philanthropist who swooped in and saved the mansion from demolition. He was a lawyer-turned-developer who made a fortune and then dedicated his life to collecting architectural artifacts, bless his heart.

The servants would do prep work in the butler’s pantry, where they could stay out of sight but still keep an eye on how dinner was progressing.

Off the dining room is the butler’s pantry. My favorite detail: the narrow window in the door, where the help could keep an eye on the diners’ progress. 

“During the Victorian era, they say children should be seen and not heard. I think servants were supposed to be neither seen nor heard,” Jean said. “They just sort of floated in when they needed to take a plate away.”

The Charnleys’ sitting room is now home to the Society of Architectural Historians library.

The Sitting Room

The highlight of the sitting room (now the SAH library) is the gorgeous tiger stripe white oak paneling. It’s called “tiger stripe” because it looks like, well, a tiger’s stripes. The wood didn’t come cheap. It’s cut from quarter-sawn wood, which is basically like slicing a citrus fruit into wedges. This is wasteful, but it brings out the beautiful and distinct grain pattern. Keep in mind, though: Charnley was a lumber baron, and wood was certainly an area where he could splurge.

At the time, the biggest commodities in Chicago were meat, wheat and lumber. While at least 200 lumber schooners entered the Chicago River every day, the industry had started to decline. The northern forests of white oak in Michigan and Wisconsin had been depleted. And on the day of the Chicago Fire, there was also a huge fire in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, a lumber mill town, which burned to the ground.

People switched to Southern yellow pine, and the industry dispersed instead of being centralized in Chicago.

The benches, cabinets and leaded glass in the sitting room are all original.

There’s another beautiful fireplace in here, this one with carved oak leaves. And again, African rose marble. 

Those scrolling leaves are pure Sullivan, but it’s believed that the geometric design in the middle of the sitting room fireplace woodwork was most likely a Wright touch.

One detail that experts believe came from Wright is the geometric ornamentation of the fireplace panels. It’s unlikely that Sullivan would have conceived the pointed arches and flat, almost Gothic stylized leaves, as this is an arrangement that one would expect from Wright.

The star of the show: The amazing screen that somewhat hides the staircase is one of the elements attributed to Wright in the home’s design.

Upstairs: The Staircase, Bedrooms and Balcony

In my opinion, the most striking part of the home is the staircase. The stairs are set back a bit behind a screen of slender oak spindles, so they appear to be floating. “It’s a beautiful way to illuminate the stairs without closing them off,” Jean said, adding that scholars believe this may have been a Wright touch as well.

Upstairs are two bedrooms, access to the balcony and beautiful (if a bit precarious) woodwork looking down to the first floor. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The bedrooms are now offices for the architectural society. The rooms themselves aren’t overly impressive, with small unadorned fireplaces ordered from a catalog. There was no need to impress others, you see; it’s the idea of private vs. public space. But they do boast unheard-of amenities at the time: Each has an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. 

One interesting tidbit: Unlike most homes of the wealthy at the time, James and Helen shared a bedroom. But we knew they had modern sensibilities when they hired Sullivan to design the home.

Another staircase in the back corner of the landing leads all the way from the basement to the fourth floor, where the servants’ bedrooms were located. They were about half the size of the other bedrooms. While you might think the servants had it nice since the top floor has the best view, just remember that there wasn’t any air conditioning — and heat rises.

The only real outdoor space found at the Charnley-Persky House is the front balcony. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

The balcony was the only outdoor space. Because the house is close to the lake (and this is the Windy City, after all) there’s always a nice breeze. It looks west, to what was a shop across the street. “Not much was going on,” Jean said. “And then Little Hell. So you didn’t need to see too far.”

That pinkish-putty brown color (Jean’s not a fan) matches the original hue of the balcony.

The house was given to the SAH, but unfortunately, there’s no endowment to support its upkeep. Tours, donations and the efforts of the architectural society subsidize the preservation of this magnificent house so that it can continue to be enjoyed for generations to come. 

If you are a Chicagoan interested in architecture or history, or are visiting Chicago and looking for something to do after you’ve seen the Bean, book a tour to experience the birth of the modern home, designed by two of the world’s most famous architects.

The home is open for docent-led tours every Wednesday and Saturday at noon year round. There’s an additional Saturday tour at 10 a.m. from April to October. Tours are free on Wednesdays and cost $10 on Saturdays. Reservations are required and tours are limited to 10 people. –Wally

Look for this fence to enter the small sunken courtyard that leads to the visitors center to start your tour. Photo by Leslie Schwartz

Charnley-Persky House Museum

1365 North Astor Street
Chicago, Illinois 60610
USA