Just two years ago I wrote “Intuiting Louie” as a reverie about growing up in Chicago when twice as much Sullivan work survived throughout city and suburbs. But even in the late 1950s (I was fifteen in 1960) a considerable amount of Adler & Sullivan work was either going, gone, or in places that should have scared the hell out of me but didn’t. Really, I was that geeky.
A question came up in conversation a few weeks ago—Do you believe in yourself?—to which my shoot-from-the-hip reply was “yes,” though that may have been more haste than conviction. As it turns out, shaking that faith is pretty easy, as recent events have shown. Two overheard conversations—one at morning coffee recently; the other mid-afternoon the same day—didn’t do my self-impression any good, and an e-mail discovered about 4:30 was the frosting on that day’s cake.
Architectural history (at least as I understand and practice it) has been my life for forty-five years, though academe has never been a good fit. But telling a great story is all that has ever mattered to me: so twice a week for an hour and fifteen minutes, that’s what I’ll continue to do, because it’s the only suit in my wardrobe.
Oh, about that cheating…