Getting it Wright: Frank Lloyd's new masterpiece

Rupert Heine

MADISON, WIS. -- My excitement never diminished; visions of architectural sugar plums danced through my head, and the five-hour drive back to Minneapolis from my hometown of Madison seemed to fly by.

I had just come from a guided tour of the Monona Terrace Community and convention Center designed by Frank Lloyd Wright 60 years ago and just built by the city of Madison. The guide was former Madison mayor Paul Soglin. It is a monumental example of Wright's genius, and Soglin had fought hard to get it built.

The Terrace was designed by Wright in 1938, then was stalled for five decades while politicians and businessmen fought to veto it. Some objections were economic, headline-grabbing tactics, and a few were reactions to Wright's famous ego. He was, after all, a man who once described Madison as "unfit for anyone but politicians and prostitutes." Tact was definitely not part of his makeup. In fact, virtually all of Wright's major projects were tainted by controversy.

But the Terrace was worth waiting for. To my mind, it's more regal than the Cathedral of Notre Dame or the Taj Mahal. It's a living textbook of Wright's design principles, brimming with Wright details and offering a natural bridge between Lake Monona and the downtown area near the State Capitol.

Until I saw it, it was hard to believe that a 60-year-old design could have such impact. Now I wouldn't be surprised to hear it heralded as the eighth wonder of the world. But then, I am biased. I have met the man.

I was a scrawny young lad in the late 1940s, helping out at the the construction site of the Wright-designed Unitarian Meeting House, where my family members were parishioners.

My mother cooked food for the workers, helped haul some of the sandstone, worked on some of the original Wright-designed pews. I thought it was just a lark: bouncing into the country in an old beat-up truck to a sandstone quarry, filling up the truck and returning to the construction site to unload the stone was more adventure than toil for me. Then one day, I happened to look up and see, 20 feet away, the embodiment of "the genius." Nothing about Wright was ordinary. From his wide-brimmed black hat to his flowing cape and silver-tipped walking stick, this man was awesome. He waved that stick like a maestro conducting a symphony orchestra and the meeting house was his concerto. I was mesmerized. The impact has lasted all my life.

Indeed, because of Wright -- his theories and philosophy and his wonderful designs -- I learned to see with better eyes, my mind opened to larger possibilities, and I gained the courage to try new ways and ideas. My mother, an active member of the congregation, had hoped I'd meet Wright.

She was doing for me then what I hope to do now: let others know that a child, born and raised on a farm in the Midwest, a boy who never completed college, could someday become one of the most revered and respected geniuses of all time. Wright studied and researched hard, thought independently and had courage, which made him able to contribute to, and advance, society as a whole. For me, that made him a hero.

You don't have to be an architecture student to understand and like Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings. Complex as his theories were, Wright (1869-1959) reduced them to simple terms.

And he was humane, designing buildings that "would be temples dedicated to the dignity of each human as an individual." Whether planning a modest home or a massive building, Wright studied the people and their activities, then designed the structure to fit them.

At least once, though, he forgot that. When Wright first presented his plans for the Unitarian Meeting House to the parishioners, my mother was among them. As the story is told in our family, she noticed a flagrant omission and pointed it out to him: The children's Sunday school section didn't have sinks

Wright grunted a nonreply, so Mom explained that as the children spent a lot of time drawing, finger-painting and sculpting with clay, there should be sinks so the kids could wash up.

"I will not have those God-awful white Kohler units junking up my interior!" Wright snapped.

Never one to back off, Mom snapped back just as loud, "But the children need to be able to wash their hands!"

Wright added the sinks.

When I learned Madison was finally going to build Monona Terrace, I was excited. Earlier this year, as it took on real form, I called Soglin and arranged to photograph him with the building. I have known Soglin since the early 1960s when, as a member of the Students for a Democratic Society attending the University of Wisconsin, he was a major factor in Madison's antiwar effort. I was a staff photographer at Madison's Capital Times newspaper then and had photographed him more than once as he challenged "the establishment" on the streets. Eventually he came to realize, as he once explained to me, "how much more he could accomplish by working within that establishment."

A brilliant campaigner, Soglin was elected to the City Council in 1968and eventually became the mayor of Madison, a post he held for 14 years. He got national recognition for his stewardship of the city -- along with hometown reaction that ranged from threats to praise for his courage.

Soglin also learned of Wright's works early in life. He grew up in the Hyde Park area of Chicago. The Wright-designed Frederick C. Robie house (1908), replete with now-famous cantilevered porch roof, was only blocks from Soglin's home. Later his family moved to Highland Park, Ill., where Wright's Ward W. Willits house, gardener's cottage and stable stand

When I met Soglin at the Terrace a few weeks ago, I felt apprehensive about taking too much of his time. He had publicly declared a desire for privacy, announcing that he would grant no more interviews, and I didn't want to impose on him. We met at the entrance, and Soglin looked and sounded years younger than times past. Getting out of public life apparently was a good move for him. I was prepared to take a quick snap and get out of his hair, but he headed toward the building, showing off every bit of the exterior and then taking us inside the mammoth monument to Wright's genius.

For the next hour, Soglin proudly provided a grand tour of the Terrace. I had seen the original design 40-some years ago, and this was quite an emotional visit for me. It was even more so for my 85-year-old mother, whom I'd brought along. For the last 50 years, she and a few other Wright supporters had campaigned to keep the project alive. Now she charged through this multitiered structure with the energy of a youngster, excited to see her dreams made real.

Paul Soglin and Lea Heine tour the Monona Terrace project

Under the direction of the current chief architect, Tony Puttnam, virtually all of Wright's plans have come to life. "We came within a foot and a half of Wright's design," Soglin said proudly, "and still met all the building codes. Even the carpet patterns come from Wright's portfolio."

It was eerie being inside that building, as though I'd been there before. It felt mysterious and remarkably comfortable. As I walked down a ramp, the soft, indirect lighting and the absence of boxlike walls reminded me of the days when my friends and I would sneak into the underground limestone caves near Madison. Had Wright done the same and drawn from the caves' design?

The stalactites and stalagmites of those caves resembled the cylindrical support columns inside Monona Terrace. Muted lighting and arched ceilings added to the illusion. Beautiful tertiary colors -- much like those in the cave's chambers -- were everywhere.

Soglin pointed out every detail of the interior -- the curves and arches of hallways, various views of the lake, spiral staircases, warm indirect lighting, russet colored carpets and the remarkable, sweeping openness of the interior.

He took time to show us the convention halls, the largest of which is designed to allow trucks quick access for loading display materials. There is even a truck-wash so that each vehicle will be clean before it enters the hall.

Suddenly we were out of the "cave" and into a cathedral-like lobby called the promenade. Huge, arched windows offer a stunning panorama of Lake Monona. Mom and Soglin chatted while I tried to capture all the splendor with my camera. A half-dozen boats cruised around the project; Soglin commented that a couple of companies were talking about offering boat tours.

Mom noted that many of Wright's signature buildings seemed to be echoed in this structure. The foundation, for example, is quite similar to the "floating pad with submerged fingers" that Wright used in the Tokyo Imperial Hotel in the 1920s. That engineering concept, thought to be too radical at the time, saved the hotel from destruction in the Great Kanto earthquake of 1923, which killed 150,000 people and destroyed half the city.

The curves and spirals are reminiscent of the Guggenheim Museum in New York and the Greek Orthodox Church in Milwaukee. The waves of arched windows recall the Marin County building in California. Ceiling bowls are used to cover the lighting and, when seen next to the cylindrical columns, are reminiscent of the "lily pad" supports in the Johnson Wax building in Racine, Wis.

I suggested to Soglin that this may be the first time in the history of mankind that any normal earthling could experience firsthand the range of a world-class genius' entire portfolio in one weekend, and he agreed.

"We were able to convince the State Legislature to participate in funding the project," Soglin recalled, "by reminding them that dozens of world-famous buildings and homes designed by Wright were nearby, and the tourists would come from all over just for the opportunity to see all of Wright's works."

More than 40 years ago, Life Magazine stated that "Madison is one of America's most beautiful cities, and with the addition of the Monona Terrace project it will be heralded as one of the world's gems."

Not surprisingly, Monona Terrace is already getting international recognition. Media critics, historians, and Wright-cultists and students from around the world are scheduled to attend the grand opening on July 18, and Madison will never be the same again.

I didn't want leave. I wanted to see more of the splendor, feel more of the tranquillity, but Soglin's family was waiting, and we had asked enough of him. We headed outside, walked across a 150-foot pedestrian bridge, past a small park and up to the State Capitol on Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. Our visit had been exciting, and the building is breathtaking.

And there may be more to come. Soglin pointed to the causeway that crosses Lake Monona, leading up to the Terrace and said with quiet glee, "You know Mr. Wright had some beautiful plans for the approach to this site. Sure would be nice to see those plans implemented too.

-- Rupert Heine is an award-winning photojournalist, twice nominated for the Pulitzer Prize, and a freelance writer who lives in New Jersey. His mother, Lea Heine, contributed to this article.