WERNER SELIGMANN Distinguished Professor of Architecture

1930-1998

Memorial service speakers

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"Dear Jeannie:

This is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. In fact, I realized the only way I could possibly cope was to write you.

In thinking about today's memorial service, I literally had to force my mind to imagine life before, and after, Werner.

I first knew Werner in 1956 in Texas, when I was nineteen years old which surely must have been about his age when he first came to the USA. I believe my accent has diminished since then, however, whereas his only seemed to get progressively worse.

Thus, I knew Werner for about forty-two years and two months. He was my first architecture teacher; he gave me my first real 'architecture" office experience; and, later, arranged my first major architectural commission.

Nowadays, most of us are so familiar with concepts like schpace, schlitz, schlotz, schvares, schleup, hierarchy, elevazione, San Michele, Van Doesburg, Mozart, opera, pate, and of course le Corbusier, that it is hard to imagine life before these things.

It did exist, however for me as an almost endless succession of angst-free days filled with blue suede shoes; chopped and channeled Mercury coupes with 26 coat rubbed metallic blue paint jobs, dual pipes with cutout valves, and white sidewall tires; girls; Fats Domino; and an unbelievable longing to get laid. Little did I know.

When I went to the neighboring (working class) town of Denison, Texas to ask Jerry Wells what it was like in architecture at The University. Jerry said: "Boy, they're mean sons-a-bitches down there, and there's not a one of 'em got an American name - there's names like Slutzky and Hejduk, Hoesli and Seligmann and they're all mean."

Thus, it was a surprise to look over sixty or so seated apprehensive students and see such a young head bobbing down the aisle of our first year design studio. The tie was a giveaway that this was a teacher, and he looked innocent enough. He went immediately to the blackboard, drew a square, and began drawing and talking about "ze properties of ze schvare."l had just encountered Werner Seligmann, and I knew my life was about to change profoundly. The least of it was trading my blue suede shoes and jeans for desert boots and khakis (I was a pushover.).

For the rest of that year spots and dots, planes and schvares, schpace and schlitz, and especially "ze cube," swirled in a melange of wondrous trial and error. Like a room full of monkeys randomly typing on typewriters, we kept cutting and pasting hoping to hit the right, but elusive combination and hear: "Ja, good, now zis is an idea."

This was also the beginning of a lot of intertwined lives. Many of us would pass through Werner's architectural office because, for us, architecture was practiced there on the plane we expected it to be, but so rarely found in the rest of the real world - insightful, rigorous, and passionate. As the intensity of the office increased, however, so did the antics. Werner's passion, accent, and humor made him an easy mark. Alan Chimacoff set an exceptionally high standard of deception usually involving a Brooklynized version of a renaissance persona, such as Mike Bonarotti or Bruno Laski, and a new and unsuspecting secretary.

Not to be outdone, however, and knowing that Werner's secretary had never seen me since I was supervising the Willard Administration Building from Ithaca, stopped by the office unannounced one day.

"Howdy there little lady. Is Warner Siegleman here?"

"Well, yes, Mr. Seligmann is in; may I tell him your name and company?"

"Sure, gal, tell Siegleman that Rosie Fartwell is here from the Aluminum Sliding Door and Window Company"

'I'm sorry, what was that name again?"

"Fartwell, Rosie Fartwell, but in the trade they just call me Rosie."

She then went into the drafting room to tell Werner. I followed right behind her and listened to her explain to Werner and Hanseuli Jorg that a Mr. Rosie Fartwell was there to talk about aluminum windows and doors. Werner and Hans both looked up at me, then at her, and then each other, and exploded in laughter. Hans pointed to me and said: "Why don't you have Mike Dennis meet with him. The poor woman then just wandered off with a dazed look on her face. Werner's secretaries tended not to last very long. I'm sure we contributed.

Werner's office was an inspiration for a lifetime for a young architect. There, you realized that it was actually possible to do extraordinary things. You also got a preview of the abuse you have to learn to cope with in order to be able to do those extraordinary things. In retrospect, this may have been the most valuable lesson from Werner's office. For those of us who practice, it is with us every day.

Of course, many of us wish that Werner had continued to build. But he, himself, came to be more interested in the culture of architecture and life, and felt he could have more influence through teaching than building. Perhaps he was right. He made Syracuse into a world class school of architecture. He promoted his friends and colleagues from around the world (including a major architectural commission for Fred Koetter and me) and he railed against the enemy.

No one deserved the Topaz Award more than Werner.

If it is better, as they say, to light one candle than to curse the darkness, then Werner was surely the master of the torch (God knows, he lit my candle more than once).

Of course, no one ever explained to Werner that this concept was originally intended as an either/or proposition, i.e., either you curse the darkness, or you light the candle.

But for him this would be absurd. It was a both/and opportunity. Obviously you light the candle and you curse the darkness. And to his credit, he never stopped raging against the darkness wherever he imagined it.

Unlike the good Jesuit who admonished that "one should never lie, but one is not always obliged to tell the whole truth", Werner found it impossible to resist sharing the whole truth as he saw it, and in the same instant that it formed in his mind. In one of our last phone conversations he said: "Mike, I saw your building in the magazine. It looked terrific. (Pause) I didn't like that drawing on the cover." "That's okay Werner, we didn't make it." "Yeah, I didn't like it."

As for life after Werner: he will continue to be a conscience for all of us, a measuring standard of excellence in both the quality and quantity of life. He had very simple taste: nothing but the very best, and as much of it as he could get. We should continue that tradition. But above all, we should extend his unwavering optimism, his belief in the goodness of man and his possibility of achievement. Perhaps his optimism and belief is because he knew the possible depths of darkness we can also achieve.

I thank him, and I miss him.

Much love, Michael"

December 6,1998