Weekly project meetings for the Building Committee were held in the Headmaster’s office. Formally an elegant library, it was tucked in the back of a brownstone on East 78th Street looking out over the interior gardens of the residential block. It had been a larger room once, but with the need for different uses and limited space, it was cut to about half its former self. The room ended up practically square, but still maintained the high ceilings of a parlor floor. A fireplace was located on the long side or at least what use to be the long side. Despite its tight accommodations, it was a cozy space lined with full height bookcases on all four walls. The shelves were filled to the brim with books. Some slid in sideways over the tops of others. There were educational books, novels of self-discovery, classic and modern novels along with an array of picture books. I would enjoy reading the titles as we sat in the meetings and often thought to stay afterwards to pick through the collection. It was like being a kid left alone in a candy store. Despite all the meetings and each opportunity to select a book, I never managed to find the right moment to do so. I suppose like many New Yorkers who have never visited the Statue of Liberty or walked the length of the Brooklyn Bridge in part because they are there, always there, those books were permanently ensconced, willing to be left in wait for one momentous day.

Meetings usually started at 7:30am, an ungodly hour, but one that spoke to the dedicated nature of the participants who gave of their own time. This select team had connections to the school of one kind or another: all wanted to see the school succeed and knew our meetings were for a good cause and one that was personal by experience or conviction. It also spoke to the nature of the Headmaster’s Office that served not only as one of the few conference rooms in the school, but also as a phenomenal center to the life and identity of the institution. It was a symbol of authority and school policy either in a literal sense of being called into the headmaster’s office or through the work or actions of its occupant.

Usually there were six of us at the meeting. There was the headmaster, two Board members that headed up the Building Committee, the facilities manager, the builder and myself, the architect. It was a very tight fit, like packing a car full of luggage. Getting everyone into the room was a staged event. God forbid that anyone had to leave during the meeting to use the restroom or take a phone call. We would all have to get up and file out and then back in again. Moreover, the logistics of these meetings seemed to accentuate the purpose of the building committee. The school needed more space. At the time, the building committee was considering the addition of a new gymnasium and additional space for the music department. It was a crazy scheme that mounted this huge volume of space over the tops of two existing buildings, both used by the school, one for classrooms, the other for apartments. A crazy scheme, but one that in New York seems perfectly sane as we all struggle to create precious usable space where there isn’t any.

When I think back on these early meetings, and the way we were so packed in the Headmaster’s office, it is remarkable to witness the transformation that the most recent renovation project created. What was an adhoc process for so many years gave way to a complete renovation once critical mass had been reached and no further add-ons were possible. It is astounding to see how the spaces in the new school from the classroom to the library, the theater to the lunchroom have so positively affected the educational process. The size and functionality of the headmaster’s office has been improved immeasurably and more importantly, the office has been truly enhanced as a symbol of strength and leadership. The new office is wonderful for meetings big and small. It has a fireplace with bookcases abound and presents a delightful and commodious elegance that is emblematic of the school itself. And also, the books in the headmaster’s library are still there waiting for me to come and experience them.

Following this most recent building renovation, my wife and I placed our youngest son in the school. We felt the wonderful experience of the project coupled with a new facility and the wonderful educators at Allen Stevenson was truly a rare opportunity. It has been interesting to be a participant in the outcome of one of my own projects, and a true education to see the firm’s work from the other side of the table. While I see many things that we could have done differently, what strikes me as so amazing is the realization of how our designs support the educational process. Having a facility that allows for opportunities and teachable moments within the classroom and throughout the facility has always been our goal. In the case of the Headmaster’s office, all the elements of function and purpose are the same whether in a small cramped office space or a large and splendidly outfitted room. The difference between what is functional and what is truly viable is not size, but design. Design that emotes clarity of purpose.

Last year’s cello recital for the fifth grade music class was held in the school auditorium. The school has always promoted a strong music curriculum and our renovation took great care to position the Music Department and related performance spaces as the focal point of the ground floor entry sequence. It has always been a curious situation for me – to come to the school for personal/parental reasons after having been there so many times for professional ones. Fortunately I have overcome my impulse to objectify with a critical eye, and can now relax and enjoy the moment as a participant, in this case, watching my son’s performance.

From the street to the auditorium is a wonderful entry sequence. The school lobby, a long gallery space designed to hold the essential character of the school is organized to allow people to gather and talk. There are displays for student work and historical artifacts with the school code embedded into the terrazzo floor. It is a wonderful experience to traverses the length of the lobby arriving at the auditorium doors having experienced a brief, but significant understanding of the school.

The auditorium is entered through a set of double doors into a softly lighted space. One enters at the balcony level, and the space drops down into the cellar. It is a terrific space. A pipe gridded ceiling throughout the space gives the sense of a professional studio and with wood panels dressing the presidium arch and the balcony fronts there is a warmth and intimacy. Looking back on the renovation process, I remember this was a difficult space to carve out of the building – requiring a significant structural transfer of two buildings above. But it is a marvelous space and along with the lobby, the phenomenal heart of the school. While not overly large – with just over 200 seats – it upholds the spirit that is so tied to the school’s identity.

The seats filed up early for the recital as students continued to mill about getting their instruments ready. The teacher began the session, giving a very light and friendly air to the proceedings. The boys seemed to appreciate her manner as they began their music pieces with great purpose. The introductions were casual, and the students all spoke to the audience before they performed. It was marvelous to see how the school consistently creates the structure for public speaking and performance for the students. One feels an intimate part of the experience whether in the audience or on the stage. As our son’s performance began, I could hear every note. He was playing with his eyes closed, moving to the sound of his piece. I know that he is trying to be like YoYo Ma; his playing is done with the utmost sincerity. In such instances, I always let him know that imitation is the best way to learn. He was reaching the high moment in the piece with the crowd on every note. The tone was very dramatic. I was almost beginning to close my eyes and be deeply submerged in the music … when all of a sudden there was a loud snap. Looking up I could see that his bow split apart. At first, he didn’t know what to do, and kept playing, though there was no pressure on the bow and the sound went completely flat. He was shocked and then mortified and looked like he was going to cry. The audience was equally stunned, and when they saw his dismay there was a surge of emotions that enveloped the stage and filled the hall. We all stood up and gave him a big applause. This was truly an Allen Stevenson moment. While it could have happened anywhere, this experience, in this intimate performance space was one of the treasured moments in our lives.

There are many experiences like these that I have had as architect and parent in the school. By and large, they bring to the forefront the consciousness of the school community and both belonging to and participating with the greater whole. Our design is an essential part of making this happen – by making a strong bond between the firm, the school and the process that is my son’s development a complete experience.