The Wright stuff
How I found my way into a private home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright when I was 11 and lessons on having an open door.
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My family wasn't big into vacations. My parents worked hard to put my brother and me through private Christian school. My dad was a postman, and my mom was an administrative assistant, so there wasn’t much money for extravagant vacations. The only big trip we took as a family was to Disney World the summer before I started Kindergarten. To save money, we borrowed a family friend's station wagon to make the 18-hour drive, stopping along the way in shady roadside motels. It was a memorable trip, to be sure, and I'm grateful for my parents' sacrifice to take us there. Today I only have mild jealousy over how often my nieces and nephews get to jet set around the globe. We took a station wagon so they could fly.
While we only had one big vacation, we often made short weekend trips to nearby cities like Chicago, Minneapolis, Indianapolis, and St. Louis. We would also make frequent day trips to Springfield, Illinois, the state capital of Illinois, the home of Abraham Lincoln, and... that's about all that's there. During one trip to Springfield, we went on a tour of the Dana-Thomas House, a Prairie Style home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, arguably one of the most influential modern architects of the 20th century.
Susan Lawrence Dana was an heiress and community activist who was one of a handful of women Wright engaged with professionally during his career, though he was known as quite the womanizer in his personal life. She gave him an unlimited budget to construct the house with the sole purpose of turning it into the center of high society and cultural events in Springfield. I can only imagine what those parties must have been like. The sprawling 12,000-square-foot home showcases Wright's Prairie Style architecture and Japanese influence across 35 rooms. It is one of the best preserved of Wright's Prairie Style homes, with more than 450 original art glass windows, light fixtures, and custom furniture. Today it is owned by the State of Illinois, where Wright did most of his early work in the Chicago suburb of Oak Park.
I was in awe of the house and immediately knew I wanted to be an architect when I grew up. That is until I learned how much geometry and math are required to go into architecture. I do subscribe to Architectural Digest today, though.
On par with all quality tourist attractions, the tour of the Dana-Thomas House ended in the gift shop. I quickly asked for a souvenir because I'm always a sucker for tchotchkes and merch. I picked a coffee table book filled with pictures of famous homes Wright built, like Taliesin, the Hollyhock House, and Fallingwater. I was mesmerized by all of his homes and the way he incorporated the natural landscape into the architecture. I also love the modern lines and symmetry.
As a child, I was prone to obsessions and would go all-in on anything I found interesting. After the trip to Springfield, I was drawing floorplans for imaginary houses in no time. One day, I made a research trip to the local public library and discovered Wright had built a home for his friend Francis W. Little just 3 miles away from my own house, at 1505 West Moss Avenue. Naturally, I began begging my parents to drive me past it anytime we were nearby.
West Moss Avenue is a fancy street near the campus of Bradley University. It's a quiet, tree-lined street with stately homes that belonged to the titans of industry who lived off of the wealth churned up from the shores of the Illinois River and the foundries of Caterpillar which put Peoria on the map.
Francis W. Little was a Chicago-based attorney and founding member of the Art Institute of Chicago. He helped Wright gain international notoriety by funding one of the first publications of his early designs. Little owned a utility company in Peoria and, in 1904, commissioned Wright to construct a house for his family. While not as resplendent as the Dana-Thomas House, The Little House, as it is known, is charming and echoes Wright's Prairie Style sensibilities.
Ever the go-getter I am, and unbeknownst to my parents, I wrote the homeowners a letter and mailed it to them. Having a postman for a dad, I knew how to address and stamp envelopes and leave them in the mailbox to be picked up. God only knows what 11-year-old me wrote in the letter, but I'm sure I gushed about how amazing it must have been to live in a Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home. And, I'm confident I hinted at the fact they should invite me over to see it for myself. I had no shame then and still don't now.
The U.S. Postal Service delivered my letter, and my subliminal prayers between the lines of my letter were answered less than a week later.
My mom came into my room looking perplexed, telling me an elderly woman had just called asking for me. She told my mom she had received my letter and wanted to invite us over to her house the following weekend. I am sure my mom was mortified. But, to her credit, she always did her best to indulge my childhood curiosity and passions, even if it meant going into the historic home of complete strangers.
My dad worked most Saturdays, so my grandparents came with me and my mom to see the house. My grandpa had worked as a pipe fitter and built the house he and my grandma lived in, so he was interested in seeing the house for himself and learning how their HVAC worked.
When the fateful day arrived, I remember walking up to the front door of the house in awe of how similar it was to the front door of the Dana-Thomas House. I was also in disbelief that real people lived inside and invited us over to see it. My mom, who lives by the motto of never showing up anywhere empty-handed, made me ring the doorbell and present the owners, Walter and Ruth Swardenski, with a box of Fannie May chocolates.
The Swardenski's welcomed us in and were the kindest people you could ever wish to meet. Like me, Ruth was fascinated by the house when she was younger. Her father owned a local lumber company and knew the ins and outs of the house's construction. Years later, when a for sale sign appeared in the house's front yard when she and Walter were in the market for a new home, they jumped on the opportunity and became the fourth family to call The Little House their own. By the time we met them in 1995, they had owned it for more than 35 years, had raised many of their children in the house, and made it the center of their family and active social life.
They had done a great job of preserving the house's integrity while making it feel like a home someone lived in instead of a museum. There were many original lighting fixtures, furniture, and finishes throughout the house including the kitchen sink. Walter was an outdoorsman, so many taxidermied animals and antlers adorned the walls and built-in shelves throughout the home, which really brought "the prairie" inside. The one glaring change to Wright's original vision was the family room, where we spent most of our visit. It was initially an open porch, but the Swadenski's enclosed it and made it into a family room with shag carpet. In one of the bedrooms, they also stripped the wood varnish off of one of the doors because they wanted to see what color the wood was underneath.
After a couple of hours or so of visiting with them and touring the house, we bid them adieu, thanking them for opening their home to us and for their hospitality.
The minute we got into my grandparent's car, with the windows down, I began a tirade lamenting how I thought the Swardenskis had ruined the house. My mom shushed me and told me to keep it down because they were still waving goodbye to us from their front porch and could probably hear me as we sped away. Even at a young age, I knew what a crime it was to destroy a Frank Lloyd Wright house by enclosing the porch and stripping the varnish off the door.
About a week or so later, I received this card in the mail:
If you can't read it, here's the paragraph that counts:
"My husband and I were happy and pleased to have you come and bring your family. We enjoy an enthusiastic group as it is a learning experience to see a Wright designed home with people living in it. May it always be an enjoyable memory for you!"
It was and still is an enjoyable memory for me, and I hope reading this was enjoyable for you, too.
This story is one of the countless examples from my life where having the gumption to send a letter, email, or DM made a difference. Doors that could have been perceived as closed were opened, and new opportunities came when I dared to do the thing. Just don’t ask me to pick up a phone and call someone. I won’t.
You have no idea what can happen or what doors can open by putting a dream, hope, or wish out into the universe (or, in this instance, into the mailbox).
I also can't help but think of sweet Walter and Ruth and how kind and generous they were to welcome a strange child who mailed them a letter into their home.
In 2007, their children gave an interview to a local magazine and said:
When giving friends a private tour of the home, we make sure to begin with the same important words: "Welcome to the house that Frank Lloyd Wright built, but welcome to the home of Ruth and Walter Swardenski."
That's really the story that we wanted them to leave with: A respect for the person who built this house but an understanding that this really was a home, of Ruth and Walter, that they shared with this community and it was a part of them.
We all have the opportunity to open doors for other people. And, when presented with the opportunity to make a connection, have a coffee or meal, or do something kind for someone else, we should do it. We have no idea what one simple act of generosity can do for someone else.
As important as it is for us to pursue our dreams, it’s equally important for us to be open to when we can help make dreams come true for others.
Should I ever own a home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright (or any home for that matter), I hope to be as kind and generous as the Swardenskis were and have an open door to welcome people in.
That's the (W)right way to live.
Sorry, I had to.
In drafting this essay, I learned Francis W. Little and his family only lived in the house on Moss Avenue for about a year before relocating to Minnesota. They again commissioned Wright to design a home for them, Northome, his first home in Minnesota and one of the last of his Praire-style homes. It was demolished in the 1970s, but its living room is preserved and is on display today at The Metropolitan Museum of Art here in New York City. The Met also owns many of the original architectural renderings of the Peoria home and furniture in their archives.
Everything always comes full circle.
Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think about this week's post in the comments below or email me at timschraeder@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you.
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I used to want to be an architect too, also until I found out the amount of math involved...and I loved sketching house plans, didn't realize we had that in common.
If you're ever in Phoenix, AZ there's a great tour of one of his estates, truly fascinating.
Great article and always impressed how you press in and make things like this, Seth Godwin, etc happen. Go get em!
I love this home. I got a chance to prep inside when the family opened the door for trick- a- treated. I saw lots of beautiful wood work adorning the front entrance.