Architect, United States
David Adler, a proponent of Paris’s École des Beaux-Arts and its classical teachings
of symmetry, balance, and superb proportions and an all-inclusive plan whereby a
building relates to its surroundings, was one of America’s most important great-house
Entries A–F 25
architects. Born to Isaac David, a prosperous second-generation wholesale clothier, and
his wife, Theresa Hyman, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Adler was educated at the
Lawrenceville School and Princeton University. After graduating from Princeton in 1904,
Adler moved to Europe, where he traveled extensively and studied architecture at the
Polytechnikum (1904–06) in Munich and at the École des Beaux-Arts (1908–11), whose
curriculum included lessons in structural and technical applications. However, because
Adler was interested exclusively in design, he returned to the United States without
mastering these key assignments, bringing with him a collection of 500 picture postcards
that documented the important architecture and gardens he had seen and to which he
referred throughout his 38-year career.
Before venturing out on his own, Adler apprenticed in Chicago in the office of
Howard Van Doren Shaw, a devotee of the Arts and Crafts movement. Shaw (1869–
1926) was among the most prolific country house architects on Chicago’s North Shore,
particularly in Lake Forest, where Adler also forged his eminent reputation.
Henry C.Dangler, Adler’s closest friend from the École and the person who introduced
Adler to Katherine Keith, whom he married in 1916, also worked in Shaw’s office. Adler
and Dangler did not stay long with Shaw; they decided to form their own partnership.
Dangler left first, and Adler remained with Shaw only until he completed the design of
his first house (1911), which was for uncle and benefactor Charles A.Stonehill, in the
North Shore community of Glencoe. Stonehill had paid for his nephew’s living expenses
while he was studying in Europe.
The Stonehill house, a Louis XIII-style building inspired by the Château de Balleroy
in Normandy, set the tone for what became a recognizable trait of Adler’s exemplary
oeuvre. Symmetry guided the house’s entrance facade of pink brick, limestone trim, and
offsetting tall windows and steeply pitched roof. Perched on a high bluff overlooking
Lake Michigan, Adler’s first charge was one of the most outstanding country houses in
Chicago. Unfortunately, the house, with its classically detailed interiors furnished in
Mediterranean pieces, was razed during the early 1960s.
Among the most important houses executed by the AdlerDangler partnership was its
first country house (1912), for Ralph H.Poole, in Lake Bluff, Illinois. With this
commission, Adler brought the Loire valley to the Illinois prairie, designing a Louis XVstyle
château that perpetuated, with its symmetrical facade of low horizontal lines rising
to a slate mansard roof, classical French architecture. Inside the house, a checker-floored
entrance hall led to the principal rooms: living porch, library, living room, music room,
and dining room, all arranged enfilade across the entire length of the house, another
indication that Adler understood French design.
Henry Dangler’s death in 1917 left both a personal and a professional void in Adler’s
life, for he had lost not only his partner but also his best friend. Adler was not certified to
practice architecture in Illinois; he obtained a New York license in 1917. Although Adler
was the designer, the signature on his plans had always been Dangler’s. Therefore, Adler
was compelled to sit for the Illinois exam, and as presaged by his incomplete studies at
the École, he failed. Adler had already built 17 houses, in French, Georgian, and
Mediterranean styles, but he was forced to find another architect who could replace
Dangler professionally. The solution came in another former associate from Shaw’s
office, Robert Work. Their association, marking the second phase of Adler’s career, was
strictly one of convenience.
Encyclopedia of 20th-century architecture 26
While associated with Work, Adler applied the styles of his early houses but also
added to his eclectic oeuvre early American, South African Dutch colonial, and a
modernist design inspired by Viennese architect Josef Hoffmann (1870–1956). Of these
three styles, it was the house in early American (1926) for William McCormick Blair in
Lake Bluff that deviated from Adler’s usual approach to design. The irregular massing of
colonial architecture, whereby a house grows larger over time, dictated the asymmetrical
design for the Blairs. Although the house was built all at once, Adler’s adaptation
flawlessly suggested an organic progression of growth from the principal block, shingled
and gambrel roofed, to the appended wings.
Adler’s largest undertaking was also completed during the mid-1920s. Castle Hill, the
imposing English manor house (1925) for Richard T.Crane Jr., in Ipswich,
Massachusetts, with its pedimented entrance pavilion, balustraded hip roof, and crowning
cupola, followed closely the architecture of 17th-century England, particularly the work
of Sir Christopher Wren (1632–1723) and the Wren-like Belton House (1689). Adler’s
ability lay not only in his proficient design but also in his choice of small Holland brick
with a soft pink patina that softened the imposing scale of the house, rising at the foot of
a 160-foot-wide aisle of grass that undulated toward the Atlantic Ocean.
Adler built 16 houses during the second phase of his career, including a Louis XVIstyle
townhouse (1921) for Joseph and Annie Ryerson in Chicago. The Ryerson
townhouse, a classically elegant building—with its symmetrical limestone facade,
crowning mansard roof, and period detailing—was Adler’s only townhouse design in the
French style (Adler built eight townhouses during his career).
By 1929, because Adler had practiced as a principal architect for ten years, he became
eligible for Illinois’s oral examination, which he passed, therefore ending his 12-year
association with Robert Work. Unfortunately, Adler’s professional achievement was
marred by personal tragedy. In May 1930 Katherine (1893–1930), his wife of 14 years,
was killed in an automobile accident while she and Adler were motoring on a rain-slick
road in Normandy. Adler sustained only minor physical injuries, but he was extremely
distraught.
Regardless of this setback, the late 1920s through the mid19308 resulted in the
culmination of Adler’s career, starting with his masterpiece: the Cotswold-influenced
house of Celia Tobin Clark in Hillsborough, California, called House-on-Hill (1930).
Here, Adler created a house that, despite its underlying grandeur and nearly 400 acres of
property, was inconspicuous and unpretentious. For example, because Adler nestled
House-on-Hill into the hillside of its vast property, from the entrance forecourt it
appeared to be only one-and-a-half stories. The house’s full magnitude became apparent
only at the back, from the south terrace, where Adler’s most outstanding elevation—an
Elizabethan half-timbered facade of oak and intricately patterned brick nogging—rose
majestically, as if it grew from the landscape.
House-on-Hill (Celia Tobin Clark
House), Hillsborough, California,
designed by David Adler (1930)
Inside the Clark house, a beamed and oak-paneled reception gallery, floored in a
harlequin-patterned black-and-white marble tile, opened into the house’s principal stair
hall. Here, a monumental and skillfully carved staircase gave the first indication of the
opulence of House-on-Hill. Because the reception gallery was on the second floor, the
staircase, with its substantial balustrade, led downstairs to an impressive procession of
rooms: library, music room, and dining room. Warmth and comfort pervaded the library,
whose antique pine paneling, Grinling Gibbon’s overmantel, and pegged parquetry were
imported from Europe. In the commodious and imposing music room, classically detailed
spruce walls served as foundation for a high plaster ceiling with its patterns of rosettes,
garlands, and musical instruments, while in the dining room, panels of hand-painted 18thcentury
Chinese wallpaper were framed by exquisite woodwork in sugar pine.
Another outstanding design from this period was the Pennsylvania Dutch-style
Georgian for Helen Shedd Reed (1931), unquestionably Adler’s finest house on the North
Shore. The Reed house, consisting of a center block balanced by a pair of wings, was
sited beyond a grass forecourt with a small pool and surrounding U-shaped gravel drive
and exemplified the symmetry, balance, and elegance of Adler’s work. The house’s
shimmering dark gray mica stone also added to its magnificence.
The interior of the Reed house was the most important collaboration between Adler
and his sister, interior decorator Frances Elkins (1888–1953). Adler and Elkins were
extremely close, and during his tenure in Paris, she traveled with him,
meeting several avant-garde artisans, including Jean-Michel Frank (1895–1941), the
French interior decorator, and furniture designer, and Alberto Giacometti (1902–85), the
sculptor who designed furniture for Frank. Nowhere is Elkins’s relationship with these
designers more apparent than in the Reed house, where Adler’s skilled architecture
guided the most notable interiors of her career. Elkins lived in California, and although
she worked independently of her brother, they collaborated on at least 16 commissions,
undoubtedly her best work, from 1919 until 1949, when Adler died unexpectedly of a
heart attack.
The Reed house’s interiors blended the traditional and the avant-garde, starting in the
entrance hall, where a slick blackand-white marble floor led to the ladies’ powder room,
the gentlemen’s cloakroom, and the gallery. In the gallery, stately black Belgian marble
columns framed the crowning element of the interior: a dramatic, freestanding staircase
of ebony and wrought-glass spindles. The gallery led to each of the principal rooms:
living room, library, and dining room, all aligned overlooking Lake Michigan.
Entries A–F 29
Adler gave each of these rooms his usual dose of exquisite and brilliantly executed
detailing. In the living room and dining room, a dentiled cornice, as well as mantels and
door casings, all intricately carved, complemented Elkins’s selection of English antiques
and accoutrements, including the dining room’s hand painted Chinese wallpaper. In the
library, although the most avant-garde room in the house, walls of tan Hermès goatskin
and leather-upholstered furnishings by Frank were adroitly tempered by Adler’s
traditional foundation: antique French parquetry, a finely carved fireplace mantel, and
doors and casings, resulting in the perfectly balanced eclecticism for which he was
renowned.
Any discussion of the Reed commission would be remiss without mentioning the
tennis house that Adler designed several years before the main house. Located at the foot
of the formal gardens, across the street from the main house, the Georgian building, with
its central lounge, his-and-hers changing rooms, and second-floor bedrooms, was
ingeniously sited at the edge of a ravine, allowing Adler to reduce the apparent scale of
the mammoth building by positioning the court ten feet below ground level. The end
result: a sunken indoor court where natural light flooded the space through a pitched glass
roof, creating, along with interior ivy-covered walls, the illusion of an outdoor setting.
The mid-1930s signaled the end to Adler’s career as an architect of the great house.
Adler’s declining health from a riding accident in 1935, as well as altered economic
conditions in the United States, prompted him to adapt to designing smaller, less grand
houses and to spend more time executing apartment interiors and the alterations and
additions that had always been a part of his demanding schedule.
Adler’s last house (he built 45 houses, 18 of which were located outside of the
Chicago area), in Pebble Beach, California, was designed for Paul and Ruth Winslow
(1948). Built low to the ground, one storied, and sided in flush boards painted white, the
Winslow house consisted of a central living room balanced by two symmetrical wings:
the dining room and service wing and the master bedroom wing. Despite the house’s
modest size, Adler’s last house was one that exemplified his ability to create grandeur
and elegance, albeit on a much smaller scale.
Selected Works
Charles A. Stonehill House, Chicago, Illinois, 1911 Ralph H.Poole House, Lake Bluff,
Illinois (with Henry Dangler), 1912
Castle Hill, Ipswich, Massachusetts, 1925 William McCormick Blair House, Lake
Bluff, Illinois (with Robert Work), 1926
House-on-Hill (Celia Tobin Clark House), Hillsborough, California, 1930
Helen Shedd Reed House, Lake Forest, Illinois (with Frances Elkins), 1931
ADAPTIVE RE-USE
Buildings often outlive their function; however, their inherent durability often gives the
building another life. There is a long tradition of buildings being adapted to suit new
functions. Roman basilicas were converted to serve as worship spaces for the nascent
Christian church. In medieval times, Roman fortifications were resurrected to form part
of the fabric of the mercantile cities. It was not until the advent of ready demolition and
the mechanization of the building process during the Industrial Revolution that the
practice of adapting old buildings to new uses became less the norm.
Following World War II, the pace of change in urban form, precipitated by
technological advances and social upheavals, quickened. As buildings became obsolete
and shifting land values directed economic development away from central cities,
particularly in North America, large-scale demolition became commonplace. In some
cases, well-built warehouses and industrial structures stood on land that had become
more valuable for other commercial and office uses, further accelerating demolition.
Housing that stood in the pathway of proposed highways was also torn down. Urban
renewal stopped short of its promise, and vacant buildings quickly became vacant land.
To combat these failures, preservation strategies were developed that employed the
existing built environment to suit new uses.
There are four distinct building types in which adaptive re-use of older structures can
be seen. Public buildings, which includes large transportation facilities like train stations
and civic buildings built in the 19th and 20th centuries being converted to new public and
private uses. Industrial buildings, with their large clear structural spans and, typically,
large expanses of windows or skylight, lend themselves particularly well to housing an
enormous variety of new use groups. Private buildings, like large houses, can serve
multiple functions because of the inherent flexibility of the prototype. Finally,
commercial buildings, the structures that are so emblematic of the advances in
architectural technology in the 20th century, are being recycled with different uses,
presenting unique preservation problems, as architects must address issues related to
preserving buildings that employed contemporary technology.
The U.S. government owns many magnificent historic structures and has taken the
lead in finding new uses for its stock of buildings, serving as an example for private
sector development. In Washington, D.C., the Pension Building, an imposing brick
edifice, was constructed shortly after the Civil War to provide office space for agencies
distributing pensions to war veterans and their families. Its primary distinctive feature is a
large, central skylit atrium space that allows the ring of offices access to natural light.
The building stood dormant for many years until a major restoration project started in
1984 enabled the National Building Museum to occupy the lower floors of the building,
with the bulk of the building retained for government offices. The soaring splendor of the
Encyclopedia of 20th-century architecture 22
building’s interior serves as an excellent advertisement of its function as a museum for
the built environment.
Also in Washington, D.C., is the Old Post Office Building, another atrium building.
Completed in 1899, the neoRomanesque building was almost demolished in the early
1970s. Fortunately, as a result of the dedicated efforts of local preservationists and the
daunting cost of demolishing such a huge structure, the building was renovated in 1978.
The three lower levels of the building, including the atrium, were converted to restaurants
and retail, with the perimeter of the building on the upper level retained as office space.
One of the most well-known re-uses of a dormant train station is Gae Aulenti’s
remaking of the Gare d’Orsay in Paris as the national museum of art and civilization. Originally
opened for train traffic in 1900, both the building’s short platform lengths and changes in
travel patterns lead to the abandonment of the station shortly after World War II.
Reopened as a museum in 1986, the renovation makes use of the original attached hotel
within the head house as exhibition space. Built within the volume of the train shed are
smaller structures that house more intimate display space for sculpture. Despite the
somewhat awkward intrusion of these galleries within the shed, the sense of the original
great volume of the space is still preserved.
In the United States, the nation’s private railroad system developed a legacy of
magnificent structures throughout the country. When train traffic declined following
World War II, these buildings, centrally located in the downtowns of virtually every
American city, sometimes were virtually abandoned or, worse, torn down in the case of
McKim, Mead and White’s Pennsylvania Station in New York. Union Station in St.
Louis (Theodore C.Link), built in 1894 and renovated and modified in the early 1980s, is
a good example of an important building restored to a new life. The barrel-vaulted Grand
Hall functions in much the same way as it was originally intended, now serving as a hotel
lobby and entrance to a multiuse complex that includes a parking garage and a restaurant
and retail center within the former train shed. The shed, the largest of its type ever built,
is organized into “neighborhoods” to make the integration of the building’s multiple
functions more coherent. When Union Station was renovated, the ornate and eclectic
spaces within the head house were restored and glass was inserted into the vaulted train
shed, flooding the interior with natural light.
In Philadelphia, a large commuter train station built for the Reading Railroad in 1893
became redundant in 1984 when a subterranean tunnel was constructed below it, linking
the area’s railways to a regional network. The beautiful steel and glassvaulted shed and
Renaissance revival terra-cotta facade were empty for several years as several different
alternatives were studied for a possible re-use. Critical to the success of the project was
the maintenance of the historic food market below the train shed. The Pennsylvania
Convention Center, built in 1992 (Thompson, Ventulett, Stainback and Association),
incorporates the Reading Terminal into the new construction, maintaining both this vital
piece of urban architecture and the market’s social importance in the city fabric. The head
house serves as the ceremonial entrance for the convention center as well as a hotel. The
train shed links the entrance from the principal street to the new large convention center
that spans over two adjacent blocks.
The first International Style skyscraper, the PSFS Building (George Howe and
William Lescaze), also in Philadelphia, was constructed in 1932 and served for many
years as the headquarters for a local bank and office building. The building had retail on
Entries A–F 23
the ground floor with a cool modern banking hall on the second floor. After the bank
went out of business in the early 1990s, the building stayed dormant for many years.
Despite the high esteem held for the building locally, its relatively small floor plate did
not attract the interest of businesses seeking space where the need for a large floor
negated the desire to have ready access for natural light. Fortunately for the building,
developers converted it to a hotel that uses the original banking hall as a multipurpose
room. The former retail space now serves as a ground floor lobby and restaurant. The
renovation is truly successful and the building retains its landmark neon sign, first lit to
advertise the bank during the depths of the Depression.
Private buildings that have been adaptively re-used range in size and character from
urban townhouses to urban palaces and castles set alone in the countryside. Museums are
the most common new use for these buildings, often commemorating the house and
holdings of the original occupant, as in the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, and
the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina. Alternatively, the urban mansions are
often converted to art museums, making use of the variety of spaces, both small and
grand. Institutions like the CooperHewitt Museum in the former Carnegie mansion and
the Frick Museum, both in New York City, serve as excellent display space for sculpture
and paintings of all manners of style and size. In European countries like France, Spain,
and Portugal, châteaus and castles have been converted into hotels. The Spanish
government, in particular, has made the conversions of these castles into paradores for the latter
half of the 20th century a matter of restoration policy.
Industrial buildings offer the most flexible typology for conversion. Mills and old
factory structures are typically solidly built and often offer large expanses of natural light.
Industrial buildings are generally anonymous buildings that, in the early part of the 20th
century, were executed, if not by architects, then by highly competent vernacular
builders. The prototype was a relatively recent phenomenon, and the pace of construction
of these buildings accelerated during the time of great urban industrialization that
coincided with a particularly eclectic period in architecture. Consequently, these
buildings hold important social and physical significance in the urban context. The solid
structures of these buildings may have contributed to their longterm survival; in some
cases, the cost of demolition made their destruction not as viable an option, allowing time
for alternative uses to be found.
Housing has been a popular choice to occupy these spaces. In the United States, the
vanguard of the movement to convert former industrial properties to housing was the
SoHo neighborhood in New York City. What started as flexible and inexpensive space
serving as artist studios became coveted by those looking for expansive living quarters in
neighborhoods that the artists had helped to become fashionable. Outside of New York,
one of the better-known early preservation and conversion projects is Lowell Mills in
Lowell, Massachusetts, a mixed-use complex that helped to revitalize a portion of that
moribund town.
These mill buildings are now also adapted to house the industries of the information
age, the economic successor to the industrial revolution. Offices for computer technology
firms, professional offices, and material and product showrooms in early 20th-century
industrial loft buildings are such a commonplace sight in urban centers that it is often
forgotten that those buildings were not originally constructed to house those functions.
One particularly striking conversion is the Templeton Factory in Glasgow, Scotland, a
Encyclopedia of 20th-century architecture 24
former carpet mill built in a colorful and stylized Venetian Gothic style in 1898. The
building complex was considered for demolition following its abandonment in 1978 as
the result of changes in manufacturing technology. Preservation as a museum was
rejected. In the early 1980s, a scheme was devised to convert the building into a hybrid
research and business incubator center run by a local government development agency.
Winston Churchill’s aphorism—“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us”—
rings true. Preservationists seeking to link the past with the future take exception to this
rule as we continue to shape our buildings, adapting them to new functions. Adaptive reuse
as a tool used by architects, like the larger preservation movement, is a 20th-century
phenomenon. The preservation of older buildings by giving them new uses also serves as
part of an overall strategy for urban designers, city planners, and the consortium of public
and private forces that view this approach as a tool of economic development. The supply
of older and significant buildings is a source of sound urban ecological regeneration. As
preservation practice evolves, the emphasis is shifting away from strict restoration to an
attitude that frees the building from its former use.
building another life. There is a long tradition of buildings being adapted to suit new
functions. Roman basilicas were converted to serve as worship spaces for the nascent
Christian church. In medieval times, Roman fortifications were resurrected to form part
of the fabric of the mercantile cities. It was not until the advent of ready demolition and
the mechanization of the building process during the Industrial Revolution that the
practice of adapting old buildings to new uses became less the norm.
Following World War II, the pace of change in urban form, precipitated by
technological advances and social upheavals, quickened. As buildings became obsolete
and shifting land values directed economic development away from central cities,
particularly in North America, large-scale demolition became commonplace. In some
cases, well-built warehouses and industrial structures stood on land that had become
more valuable for other commercial and office uses, further accelerating demolition.
Housing that stood in the pathway of proposed highways was also torn down. Urban
renewal stopped short of its promise, and vacant buildings quickly became vacant land.
To combat these failures, preservation strategies were developed that employed the
existing built environment to suit new uses.
There are four distinct building types in which adaptive re-use of older structures can
be seen. Public buildings, which includes large transportation facilities like train stations
and civic buildings built in the 19th and 20th centuries being converted to new public and
private uses. Industrial buildings, with their large clear structural spans and, typically,
large expanses of windows or skylight, lend themselves particularly well to housing an
enormous variety of new use groups. Private buildings, like large houses, can serve
multiple functions because of the inherent flexibility of the prototype. Finally,
commercial buildings, the structures that are so emblematic of the advances in
architectural technology in the 20th century, are being recycled with different uses,
presenting unique preservation problems, as architects must address issues related to
preserving buildings that employed contemporary technology.
The U.S. government owns many magnificent historic structures and has taken the
lead in finding new uses for its stock of buildings, serving as an example for private
sector development. In Washington, D.C., the Pension Building, an imposing brick
edifice, was constructed shortly after the Civil War to provide office space for agencies
distributing pensions to war veterans and their families. Its primary distinctive feature is a
large, central skylit atrium space that allows the ring of offices access to natural light.
The building stood dormant for many years until a major restoration project started in
1984 enabled the National Building Museum to occupy the lower floors of the building,
with the bulk of the building retained for government offices. The soaring splendor of the
Encyclopedia of 20th-century architecture 22
building’s interior serves as an excellent advertisement of its function as a museum for
the built environment.
Also in Washington, D.C., is the Old Post Office Building, another atrium building.
Completed in 1899, the neoRomanesque building was almost demolished in the early
1970s. Fortunately, as a result of the dedicated efforts of local preservationists and the
daunting cost of demolishing such a huge structure, the building was renovated in 1978.
The three lower levels of the building, including the atrium, were converted to restaurants
and retail, with the perimeter of the building on the upper level retained as office space.
One of the most well-known re-uses of a dormant train station is Gae Aulenti’s
remaking of the Gare d’Orsay in Paris as the national museum of art and civilization. Originally
opened for train traffic in 1900, both the building’s short platform lengths and changes in
travel patterns lead to the abandonment of the station shortly after World War II.
Reopened as a museum in 1986, the renovation makes use of the original attached hotel
within the head house as exhibition space. Built within the volume of the train shed are
smaller structures that house more intimate display space for sculpture. Despite the
somewhat awkward intrusion of these galleries within the shed, the sense of the original
great volume of the space is still preserved.
In the United States, the nation’s private railroad system developed a legacy of
magnificent structures throughout the country. When train traffic declined following
World War II, these buildings, centrally located in the downtowns of virtually every
American city, sometimes were virtually abandoned or, worse, torn down in the case of
McKim, Mead and White’s Pennsylvania Station in New York. Union Station in St.
Louis (Theodore C.Link), built in 1894 and renovated and modified in the early 1980s, is
a good example of an important building restored to a new life. The barrel-vaulted Grand
Hall functions in much the same way as it was originally intended, now serving as a hotel
lobby and entrance to a multiuse complex that includes a parking garage and a restaurant
and retail center within the former train shed. The shed, the largest of its type ever built,
is organized into “neighborhoods” to make the integration of the building’s multiple
functions more coherent. When Union Station was renovated, the ornate and eclectic
spaces within the head house were restored and glass was inserted into the vaulted train
shed, flooding the interior with natural light.
In Philadelphia, a large commuter train station built for the Reading Railroad in 1893
became redundant in 1984 when a subterranean tunnel was constructed below it, linking
the area’s railways to a regional network. The beautiful steel and glassvaulted shed and
Renaissance revival terra-cotta facade were empty for several years as several different
alternatives were studied for a possible re-use. Critical to the success of the project was
the maintenance of the historic food market below the train shed. The Pennsylvania
Convention Center, built in 1992 (Thompson, Ventulett, Stainback and Association),
incorporates the Reading Terminal into the new construction, maintaining both this vital
piece of urban architecture and the market’s social importance in the city fabric. The head
house serves as the ceremonial entrance for the convention center as well as a hotel. The
train shed links the entrance from the principal street to the new large convention center
that spans over two adjacent blocks.
The first International Style skyscraper, the PSFS Building (George Howe and
William Lescaze), also in Philadelphia, was constructed in 1932 and served for many
years as the headquarters for a local bank and office building. The building had retail on
Entries A–F 23
the ground floor with a cool modern banking hall on the second floor. After the bank
went out of business in the early 1990s, the building stayed dormant for many years.
Despite the high esteem held for the building locally, its relatively small floor plate did
not attract the interest of businesses seeking space where the need for a large floor
negated the desire to have ready access for natural light. Fortunately for the building,
developers converted it to a hotel that uses the original banking hall as a multipurpose
room. The former retail space now serves as a ground floor lobby and restaurant. The
renovation is truly successful and the building retains its landmark neon sign, first lit to
advertise the bank during the depths of the Depression.
Private buildings that have been adaptively re-used range in size and character from
urban townhouses to urban palaces and castles set alone in the countryside. Museums are
the most common new use for these buildings, often commemorating the house and
holdings of the original occupant, as in the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, California, and
the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina. Alternatively, the urban mansions are
often converted to art museums, making use of the variety of spaces, both small and
grand. Institutions like the CooperHewitt Museum in the former Carnegie mansion and
the Frick Museum, both in New York City, serve as excellent display space for sculpture
and paintings of all manners of style and size. In European countries like France, Spain,
and Portugal, châteaus and castles have been converted into hotels. The Spanish
government, in particular, has made the conversions of these castles into paradores for the latter
half of the 20th century a matter of restoration policy.
Industrial buildings offer the most flexible typology for conversion. Mills and old
factory structures are typically solidly built and often offer large expanses of natural light.
Industrial buildings are generally anonymous buildings that, in the early part of the 20th
century, were executed, if not by architects, then by highly competent vernacular
builders. The prototype was a relatively recent phenomenon, and the pace of construction
of these buildings accelerated during the time of great urban industrialization that
coincided with a particularly eclectic period in architecture. Consequently, these
buildings hold important social and physical significance in the urban context. The solid
structures of these buildings may have contributed to their longterm survival; in some
cases, the cost of demolition made their destruction not as viable an option, allowing time
for alternative uses to be found.
Housing has been a popular choice to occupy these spaces. In the United States, the
vanguard of the movement to convert former industrial properties to housing was the
SoHo neighborhood in New York City. What started as flexible and inexpensive space
serving as artist studios became coveted by those looking for expansive living quarters in
neighborhoods that the artists had helped to become fashionable. Outside of New York,
one of the better-known early preservation and conversion projects is Lowell Mills in
Lowell, Massachusetts, a mixed-use complex that helped to revitalize a portion of that
moribund town.
These mill buildings are now also adapted to house the industries of the information
age, the economic successor to the industrial revolution. Offices for computer technology
firms, professional offices, and material and product showrooms in early 20th-century
industrial loft buildings are such a commonplace sight in urban centers that it is often
forgotten that those buildings were not originally constructed to house those functions.
One particularly striking conversion is the Templeton Factory in Glasgow, Scotland, a
Encyclopedia of 20th-century architecture 24
former carpet mill built in a colorful and stylized Venetian Gothic style in 1898. The
building complex was considered for demolition following its abandonment in 1978 as
the result of changes in manufacturing technology. Preservation as a museum was
rejected. In the early 1980s, a scheme was devised to convert the building into a hybrid
research and business incubator center run by a local government development agency.
Winston Churchill’s aphorism—“We shape our buildings; thereafter they shape us”—
rings true. Preservationists seeking to link the past with the future take exception to this
rule as we continue to shape our buildings, adapting them to new functions. Adaptive reuse
as a tool used by architects, like the larger preservation movement, is a 20th-century
phenomenon. The preservation of older buildings by giving them new uses also serves as
part of an overall strategy for urban designers, city planners, and the consortium of public
and private forces that view this approach as a tool of economic development. The supply
of older and significant buildings is a source of sound urban ecological regeneration. As
preservation practice evolves, the emphasis is shifting away from strict restoration to an
attitude that frees the building from its former use.
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