Architecture for Us - Stories - One Body, Many Parts
First a little background… The Architectural Barriers Act (ABA) was passed in 1968 and applied largely to federal buildings. Its intent was to provide “scoping and technical requirements for accessibility to sites, facilities, buildings, and elements by individuals with disabilities.” The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) of 1990 and the 1991 ADA Accessibility Guidelines (ADAAG) expanded the scope of coverage and included new construction as well as renovation projects. These were, and are important advances.
Most if not all of us know people who are impacted by these guidelines. Perhaps it’s a friend with a hearing impairment. You may know someone who uses a wheelchair or a walker. Maybe you have a colleague with a vision impairment.
As licensed professionals, architects work to meet the standards established by these guidelines as well as various building and zoning codes. Of course architects come in all shapes and sizes as do the clients who hire them. Indeed, non-architects may be surprised to learn that the quality of a final architectural project has as much, if not more to do with the character and nature of the client than it does with the actual architect. Despite best efforts, a firm I worked with completed a project that was sadly awkward and ugly - an unfortunate addition to the built world. Although the clients had gotten exactly what they wanted and were delighted, none of us planned to add the project to our portfolios. On such occasions I used to loosely quote Frank Lloyd Wright saying, “Baby’s got to have new shoes.” A colleague captured it better when he said, “Can’t see if from my house!”
But I digress…
I am a strong supporter of the ADA and am still amazed that it took us so long to do the right thing. At the same time I remind myself that the ADA only provides technical standards that must be met. The quality and character of how the standards are met is up to the architect and/or building owner. And as I say, these folks come in all shapes and sizes. It is not surprising, therefore, to discover instances where the guidelines have been met, but the results are miserable. Allow me to share a few from my own experiences.
I’m remembering… During my academic life a university I knew decided to renovate one of its primary student buildings. The building needed some “love,” and desperately required work to meet the ADA guidelines. Among its many issues, the original 1970’s design had tiered floor levels offset by a couple of feet. Generous expanses of steps connected the levels. I would guess that part of the original design intent was to break up the large expanse of open floor space by tiering the floors. Of course this made a large portion of the building inaccessible to wheelchair users and treacherous for people with vision impairments. (I know - it’s hard to believe this was ever acceptable design.)
With the building renovation this issue would be addressed and a ramp would be added that met the standards of the ADA. Now wheelchair users would have access to all of the buildings tiered levels.
But what about that ramp? As I said, the ADA only provides technical standards. The quality and character of how the standards are met is up to the architect and/or building owner. In this case a decision was made to place a primary ramp toward a side of the building that just happened to be immediately adjacent the lockers for the nearby gym. The ramp was in essence a corridor used by people coming to and from the gym. The width of the ramp met ADA minimum standards, which was fine assuming no one was walking with the wheelchair user, or no one was using the lockers.
So, picture this… A wheelchair user, you and two friends have just left a meeting with an advisor. There is a two foot level drop to get out of the building and while most students are taking the existing stairs, you will clearly be taking the ramp. As you move onto the ramp you can’t help but notice the stench from the gym cloths stored in the lockers. Your friends have joined you on the ramp but can’t walk near you as the ramp is too narrow. You glance to your left through an occasional opening and see other students laughing and talking as they take the steps. How do you feel? Has architecture made your life better today? Has it ennobled you?
I’m remembering… A freehand drawing class that I once taught had a student who was a wheelchair user. After class ended I typically hung out a bit to see if anyone needed any extra help or more likely was the type of person who preferred to ask questions outside the large group. No problem. During one of these after class sessions I looked up and noticed that the student who was a wheelchair user had backed up five or so yards from the door and was now racing forward as fast as he could and ramming the door with his chair to get out of the room. (This is an absolutely true story. You can’t make this stuff up.)
The building we were in had not been renovated in many years (if ever) and while the facilities department had made some effort to recognize the ADA, the door configuration and hardware were not up to the standards. I ran over to help the student and spoke with him briefly, telling him that I would contact the registrar about the door and assigned classroom. “No need,” he told, “I do this all the time here. Most of the doors don’t work right. I don’t get trapped very often.” Ugh. I don’t get trapped very often…. He dropped out some months later.
So, picture this… You as a wheelchair user and the only way you can get out of the room you are in is to “rush” the door and bang it open with your chair. How do you feel? Has architecture made your life better today? Not to worry, I suppose as you don’t get trapped very often.
I’m remembering… The building I’m working in was partially renovated a few years back and the building owners have been required to bring it up to current standards. Consider the toilet rooms: among other things the ADA is very clear that the countertop should be a certain distance above the finished floor level. Also, mirrors need to be situated so that wheelchair users can see themselves. Excellent and no problem. The building owner lowered the countertop and mirror to meet the ADA. Of course now if you are over 5’8” you can’t see yourself in the mirror - it’s too low. So yes, the standards have been met but the design is laughable. (How easy it would be to simply install a larger mirror.) Similarly, the ADA requires that the drain pipes be insulated to prevent a person from having their legs scalded by hot water. Rather than insulate the pipes the building owner decided to eliminate the hot water supply, assuming that would satisfy inspectors.
Over the years I’ve collected many examples of horrible if technically acceptable solutions to the ADA. Curb cuts that were located in a manner that had no respect for where pedestrian traffic actually occurred. Speakers announcing level changes in elevators that were so distorted that it was impossible to understand what was being said. Tactile paving elements that even the smallest amount of detritus made impossible to discern. I’ve seen examples where the only access to an elevator was through a service area where food waste was stored and disposed. Unbelievable.
I believe that architecture is about relationships. Relationships between people, between people and objects, and between objects. I also believe that we have an ethical, if not moral responsibility to improve the quality of these relationships.
For example, in the example above about the ramp there is a “people” relationship between the wheelchair user and his two friends. There is also a people/object relationship between the people on the ramp, the gym lockers, and the ramp itself. There is a relationship between the ramp, the lockers and other features such as lighting, texture, and so forth. And so I ask… has the architecture improved the nature of these relationships?
I believe that when designing to meet the ADA the design should be so incredible that it is no way a “second class” solution for anyone. For instance, ramps should be designed such that all users prefer them to the other available options. Toilet rooms should be designed in a manner that speaks to the dignity of all rather than creating some form of “otherness.”
After all, we are one body with many parts. Our diversity only serves to make our whole stronger. Shouldn’t we have an equal respect for each of our parts? Is it too much to ask for an Architecture that ennobles all of us?
First a little background… The Architectural Barriers Act (ABA) was passed in 1968 and applied largely to federal buildings. Its intent was to provide “scoping and technical requirements for accessibility to sites, facilities, buildings, and elements by individuals with disabilities.” The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) of 1990 and the 1991 ADA Accessibility Guidelines (ADAAG) expanded the scope of coverage and included new construction as well as renovation projects. These were, and are important advances.
Most if not all of us know people who are impacted by these guidelines. Perhaps it’s a friend with a hearing impairment. You may know someone who uses a wheelchair or a walker. Maybe you have a colleague with a vision impairment.
As licensed professionals, architects work to meet the standards established by these guidelines as well as various building and zoning codes. Of course architects come in all shapes and sizes as do the clients who hire them. Indeed, non-architects may be surprised to learn that the quality of a final architectural project has as much, if not more to do with the character and nature of the client than it does with the actual architect. Despite best efforts, a firm I worked with completed a project that was sadly awkward and ugly - an unfortunate addition to the built world. Although the clients had gotten exactly what they wanted and were delighted, none of us planned to add the project to our portfolios. On such occasions I used to loosely quote Frank Lloyd Wright saying, “Baby’s got to have new shoes.” A colleague captured it better when he said, “Can’t see if from my house!”
But I digress…
I am a strong supporter of the ADA and am still amazed that it took us so long to do the right thing. At the same time I remind myself that the ADA only provides technical standards that must be met. The quality and character of how the standards are met is up to the architect and/or building owner. And as I say, these folks come in all shapes and sizes. It is not surprising, therefore, to discover instances where the guidelines have been met, but the results are miserable. Allow me to share a few from my own experiences.
I’m remembering… During my academic life a university I knew decided to renovate one of its primary student buildings. The building needed some “love,” and desperately required work to meet the ADA guidelines. Among its many issues, the original 1970’s design had tiered floor levels offset by a couple of feet. Generous expanses of steps connected the levels. I would guess that part of the original design intent was to break up the large expanse of open floor space by tiering the floors. Of course this made a large portion of the building inaccessible to wheelchair users and treacherous for people with vision impairments. (I know - it’s hard to believe this was ever acceptable design.)
With the building renovation this issue would be addressed and a ramp would be added that met the standards of the ADA. Now wheelchair users would have access to all of the buildings tiered levels.
But what about that ramp? As I said, the ADA only provides technical standards. The quality and character of how the standards are met is up to the architect and/or building owner. In this case a decision was made to place a primary ramp toward a side of the building that just happened to be immediately adjacent the lockers for the nearby gym. The ramp was in essence a corridor used by people coming to and from the gym. The width of the ramp met ADA minimum standards, which was fine assuming no one was walking with the wheelchair user, or no one was using the lockers.
So, picture this… A wheelchair user, you and two friends have just left a meeting with an advisor. There is a two foot level drop to get out of the building and while most students are taking the existing stairs, you will clearly be taking the ramp. As you move onto the ramp you can’t help but notice the stench from the gym cloths stored in the lockers. Your friends have joined you on the ramp but can’t walk near you as the ramp is too narrow. You glance to your left through an occasional opening and see other students laughing and talking as they take the steps. How do you feel? Has architecture made your life better today? Has it ennobled you?
I’m remembering… A freehand drawing class that I once taught had a student who was a wheelchair user. After class ended I typically hung out a bit to see if anyone needed any extra help or more likely was the type of person who preferred to ask questions outside the large group. No problem. During one of these after class sessions I looked up and noticed that the student who was a wheelchair user had backed up five or so yards from the door and was now racing forward as fast as he could and ramming the door with his chair to get out of the room. (This is an absolutely true story. You can’t make this stuff up.)
The building we were in had not been renovated in many years (if ever) and while the facilities department had made some effort to recognize the ADA, the door configuration and hardware were not up to the standards. I ran over to help the student and spoke with him briefly, telling him that I would contact the registrar about the door and assigned classroom. “No need,” he told, “I do this all the time here. Most of the doors don’t work right. I don’t get trapped very often.” Ugh. I don’t get trapped very often…. He dropped out some months later.
So, picture this… You as a wheelchair user and the only way you can get out of the room you are in is to “rush” the door and bang it open with your chair. How do you feel? Has architecture made your life better today? Not to worry, I suppose as you don’t get trapped very often.
I’m remembering… The building I’m working in was partially renovated a few years back and the building owners have been required to bring it up to current standards. Consider the toilet rooms: among other things the ADA is very clear that the countertop should be a certain distance above the finished floor level. Also, mirrors need to be situated so that wheelchair users can see themselves. Excellent and no problem. The building owner lowered the countertop and mirror to meet the ADA. Of course now if you are over 5’8” you can’t see yourself in the mirror - it’s too low. So yes, the standards have been met but the design is laughable. (How easy it would be to simply install a larger mirror.) Similarly, the ADA requires that the drain pipes be insulated to prevent a person from having their legs scalded by hot water. Rather than insulate the pipes the building owner decided to eliminate the hot water supply, assuming that would satisfy inspectors.
Over the years I’ve collected many examples of horrible if technically acceptable solutions to the ADA. Curb cuts that were located in a manner that had no respect for where pedestrian traffic actually occurred. Speakers announcing level changes in elevators that were so distorted that it was impossible to understand what was being said. Tactile paving elements that even the smallest amount of detritus made impossible to discern. I’ve seen examples where the only access to an elevator was through a service area where food waste was stored and disposed. Unbelievable.
I believe that architecture is about relationships. Relationships between people, between people and objects, and between objects. I also believe that we have an ethical, if not moral responsibility to improve the quality of these relationships.
For example, in the example above about the ramp there is a “people” relationship between the wheelchair user and his two friends. There is also a people/object relationship between the people on the ramp, the gym lockers, and the ramp itself. There is a relationship between the ramp, the lockers and other features such as lighting, texture, and so forth. And so I ask… has the architecture improved the nature of these relationships?
I believe that when designing to meet the ADA the design should be so incredible that it is no way a “second class” solution for anyone. For instance, ramps should be designed such that all users prefer them to the other available options. Toilet rooms should be designed in a manner that speaks to the dignity of all rather than creating some form of “otherness.”
After all, we are one body with many parts. Our diversity only serves to make our whole stronger. Shouldn’t we have an equal respect for each of our parts? Is it too much to ask for an Architecture that ennobles all of us?