Table of Contentss

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Dinosaur

Wright Brothers

Gettysburg

Pertified Forest

Rocky Mountain

Cecil Doty

Conclusion

Bibliography

Appendix I

Appendix II

Appendix III

Appendix IV

Mission 66 Visitor Centers Introduction

Modern Architecture in the Parks

Mission 66 reached the drawing boards in the mid-1950s, when park architecture included late Victorian lodges constructed by private concessioners, rustic architecture designed by the Park Service in the 1920s and 1930s, and temporary facilities erected to accommodate visitors during wartime, but often still in use. The Park Service Rustic style developed in the 1920s emphasized natural materials and associations with the surrounding landscape; eventually "rustic" became a label for any building erected by the Park Service that met this criteria, whether by imitating an adobe presidio or an alpine retreat. Such rustic construction demanded the labor of both skilled and unskilled craftsmen, and, during the 1930s, the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) provided the cheap manpower that allowed for such painstaking construction at low cost. Visitors and park personnel came to expect well-groomed trails, amenities like stone drinking fountains and steps, trailside museums, and other architectural features which appeared part of the natural landscape.

The prospect of modern architecture in the national parks shocked those not imbued with its progressive attitudes, inspired with its missionary zeal, or knowledgeable about its origins. News of modern architectural development immediately provoked an outcry from environmentalists and nostalgic visitors. One of the most outspoken critics of the new style was Devereux Butcher of the National Parks Association. As early as 1952, Butcher wrote of his horror at finding contemporary buildings in Great Smoky Mountains and Everglades and criticized the Park Service for abandoning its "long-established policy of designing buildings that harmonize with their environment and with existing styles." Among the eyesores he discovered were a curio store with "blazing red roof and hideous design," a residence "ugly beyond words to describe," and a utility building that might as well have been a factory. Later in the decade, David Brower and Ansel Adams joined Butcher in condemning such park development, although these critics focused more on issues of resource conservation than architectural style. [20]

Despite the criticism of Butcher and others, the Park Service felt it had remained consistent with its tradition of architectural design in harmony with the surrounding landscape. In fact, the design methodology behind the use of rustic architecture was adapted to explain contemporary design decisions. According to Director Wirth, Mission 66 buildings were intended to blend into the landscape, but through their plainness rather than by identification with natural features. Even the qualities that defined rustic architecture—local boulders, rough beams, etc.—might draw attention to a building created to serve a practical function. [21] As if to illustrate this fact, the Park Service refused to approve a restaurant designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for the concessioner at Yosemite Valley in 1954. Wirth called the building ". . . a mushroom-dome type of thing. A thing to see, instead of being for service." [22] The Park Service communicated this architectural philosophy in its early promotional literature, as well as in its relations with the national media. In August 1956, Architectural Record reported that Mission 66 would produce "simple contemporary buildings that perform their assigned function and respect their environment." [23] The magazine also emphasized that while this policy had traditionally led to the use of stone and redwood, "preliminary designs for the newer buildings show a trend toward more liberal use of steel and glass." One example of this trend was Dinosaur National Monument's Quarry Visitor Center, the much-acclaimed modernist facility designed by Anshen and Allen, Architects, of San Francisco. Two years after the rejection of Wright's "mushroom," the Park Service approved a modernist visitor center with a steel and glass exhibit area that made it "a thing to see." A decade later, at the conclusion of Mission 66, the Park Service would celebrate the dedication of the Headquarters at Rocky Mountain, designed by Taliesin Associated Architects, Ltd., the firm that evolved from the office Wright established in Scottsdale, Arizona, in 1938.

The contradiction between Park Service design philosophy and practice frustrated environmentalists, who were quick to point out the ironies unfolding before them and to criticize the Mission 66 program as heading toward excessive and unnecessary development. Within the Park Service, architects appear to have embraced the opportunity to modernize facilities and experiment with new design concepts. For example, Cecil Doty, a leading Park Service architect at the Western Office of Design and Construction (WODC) in San Francisco had designed the rustic Santa Fe Headquarters building in 1937. By the early 1950s, however, he recalled "a change in philosophy. . . . That's why you started seeing [concrete] block in a lot of things. We couldn't help but change. . . . I can't understand how anyone could think otherwise, how it could keep from changing." [24] Doty's statement provides a key to understanding the legacy of Mission 66 architecture, the purpose of which was not to design buildings for atmosphere, whimsy or aesthetic pleasure, but for change: to meet the demands of an estimated eighty million visitors by 1966, to anticipate the requirements of modern transportation, and to exercise the potential of new construction technology. As Director Wirth explained, the Park Service not only had to serve greater numbers of visitors, but to understand their increased need for appropriate facilities. The pressures of the modern condition"the stress and restless activity of this machine age, when man is sending satellites spinning into orbit around the sun and our own earth"—required more frequent renewal in "the peace and solitude offered by nature." [25] Even critics agreed that some kind of action was necessary to bring the parks up to contemporary standards; for Park Service personnel, Mission 66 offered hope for the future of the system.

Mission 66 promoters and pioneers of the modern movement shared a belief in the power of architecture to change behavior; the language used to describe the program mirrored that of Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe. Wirth told his steering committee to be "as objective as possible. Each was to be free to question anything if he thought a better way could be found. Nothing was to be sacred except the ultimate purpose to be served. Man, methods, and time-honored practices were to be accorded no vested deference." [26] This need to abandon the past and rely on new approaches—the modernist philosophy in a nutshell—reflected the plight of a society recovering from depression and war. During the 1950s, America looked to the modern movement for answers to social and economic questions, and it seemed to offer answers: buildings could not only house the indigent, but help them to conform to middleclass ideals; ergonomic office towers would produce more efficient workers. The utopian idea that improvements in the built environment might transform society dated back to antiquity, but the technology available to seek that transformation was new, and it inspired a generation of modern architects. A writer for Architectural Record expressed this sense of limitless potential for park architecture in 1957:

Let us not decide, just because we cannot draw it on the back of an envelope, that the great and sympathetic architecture cannot exist. I shall have to insist that the effort to achieve or acquire great architecture has almost never been tried. The whole habit of thinking in the parks is the other way. We have not dared to let man design in the parks; we have not asked to see what he might do. We have slapped his hand and told him not to try anything. [27]

Modern architecture expressed progress, efficiency, health, and innovation—values the Park Service hoped to embody over the next decade.

Figure 4. Grist cover, National Park Service, September-October, 1957.

The social acceptance of modernism and its use in the parks was also a matter of urgency and economics. The Park Service needed to serve huge numbers of people as quickly as possible, and, despite increased funding, it had to do so on a limited budget. The materials that modern buildings were composed of—inexpensive steel, concrete, and glass—allowed more facilities to be built for more parks. In its publication Grist, the Park Service praised concrete as "low-cost, long-lived beauty treatment for parks." Asphalt was "nature's own product for nature's preserves," and asbestos-cement products "building materials for beauty, economy, permanence." [28] The use of such materials was obviously loaded with cultural significance; concrete was certainly not new, and even the reinforced variety dated back to 1859. It was the appearance of mass production, a condition implying that a standard for human comfort had been attained, that appealed to followers of the modern movement. In the 1950s and 1960s, American society not only embraced modern materials and the ideals they represented, but became aware of the Park Service's interest in such advances. The Reynolds Metals Company invited Director Wirth to a meeting about progress in aluminum engineering. Wirth attended the event and acquired a copy of the book sponsored by the company, a survey of modernist architecture and interviews with important modern architects. [29]

Despite the general acceptance of modernism, Americans were still unfamiliar with modern architecture in national parks. The success of the Mission 66 program depended, in large part, on a tremendous public relations campaign. The program was promoted with press releases notifying newspapers of ground breakings, building dedications, and other indications of progress; signs identifying its projects; and various community events focusing on public education. Newspaper coverage of early Mission 66 projects describes the shock of the modern style in places the public expected "wilderness" and history. When The New York Times reported on the controversy surrounding Gilbert Stanley Underwood's Jackson Lake Lodge, the reporter emphasized the contrast between the new concrete building and the area's wild west tradition, noting that "sheepmen," "naturalists," and "gamblers" "now heatedly discuss the pros and cons of modern architecture." Nevertheless, the Times clearly admired "the artful blend of comfortable modern with western" even as critics called it "a slab sided concrete abomination." The Virginian Pilot was more conservative in its coverage of the "modern trend in architectural ideas" exhibited in the shade structures at Coquina Beach, Cape Hatteras National Seashore. Although Donald F. Benson, a Park Service architect at the Eastern Office of Design and Construction (EODC) received a Progressive Architecture award citation for the design, the paper warned that, "until people get used to the modern trend," the new shelters would "cause as much comment as three nude men on a Republican Convention Program." [30] The Coquina facilities, destroyed by a storm in the early 1990s, soon became among the most widely praised designs of the Mission 66 era. [31]

Figure 5. Jackson Lake Lodge, Grand Teton National Park, Moose, Wyoming. n.d. Photograph by Jackson Hole Preserve, New York. (Courtesy National Park Service Historic Photograph Collections, Harpers Ferry Center.)

Figure 6. Coquina Beach shelter, Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, as pictured in an undated postcard from the collection of Donald Benson.

If modern architecture seemed out of place in certain settings, it was rapidly becoming familiar in both suburbs and cities. By the 1950s, the new tradition in architecture had stood the test of time, and the revolutionary designs of its founders were adapted and incorporated into mainstream American culture. For models of design, then, the youthful generation of Park Service architects and planners looked not to their old-fashioned predecessors in the parks, but to the work of such geniuses of modernism as Breuer, Neutra, and Eero Saarinen. But if Park Service designers could be conservative in their choice of modernism, they must also have been aware of dissension in the ranks of the architectural elite. A 1961 symposium on the state of national architecture brought a panel of influential practitioners together to discuss the current "period of chaoticism." All agreed that the promise of the new tradition had not been fulfilled; confusion and a depressing aimlessness prevailed. Amid this frustration, a glimmer of optimism called The Philadelphia School offered some direction. This group of young architects admired the buildings of Louis Kahn as well as the philosophy underlying his work. Kahn and his Philadelphia School rejected the traditional tenets of stripped-down modernism, seeking instead the spiritual side of design. Prominent members of this loosely associated group included Robert Venturi, Robert Geddes, and the firm of Mitchell, Cunningham, Giurgola, Associates (later known as Mitchell/Giurgola, Architects). [32]

The Park Service accepted modernism at a time when the new tradition had aged, and its post-modern backlash not yet emerged. The visitor center designed by Mitchell/Giurgola for the Wright Brothers Memorial was featured in a "news report" in Progressive Architecture suggesting that the Park Service had finally caught up with the standard required by the modern visitor. "The design of visitors' facilities provided for national tourist attractions seems to be decidedly on the upgrade, at least as far as the work for National Park Service is concerned. Disappearing one hopes, are the rustic-rock snuggery and giant-size "log cabin" previously favored." [33] That the progressive periodical chose two visitor centers to "exemplify new park architecture" was not surprising. The Park Service intended for the new visitor center buildings to represent the values and results of its system-wide development campaign. Whether or not the Park Service knew it was embracing a new strain of modernism is unclear.

Modernist architecture and planning approached the gates of the nation's capitol in 1965, when the Park Service collaborated on the Pennsylvania Avenue Historic District inspired by President Kennedy. During his inaugural parade, the President commented on the unsightly appearance of Pennsylvania Avenue, and it fell to Secretary of the Interior Stewart L. Udall to instigate improvements. Udall consulted with Nat Owings, principal of SOM, the nationally famous architectural firm known for its major planning projects and modern office buildings. [34] For the area bounded by the Capitol and the White House, Owings "contemplated a totally new creation along Pennsylvania Avenue . . . we'd tear down everything there and build a monumental national avenue framed with totally new monumental structures." [35] In an effort to generate funds for the scheme, the Park Service conducted an historical study of the area and ultimately declared it an historic site in 1965. The growing consciousness of the importance of historic preservation, which culminated in the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966, helped to save potentially endangered historic buildings within the district, such as the Willard Hotel. Ironically, the Park Service's own policy towards historic areas compromised the modernist redevelopment plan. One result of the Mission 66 program was the realization that historic buildings and districts required federal protection. [36]

CONTINUED

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