As I discovered during my trips to see German buildings like the Hotel Kempinski, Helmut was doing large, cable-supported walls of transparent low-iron glass long before that practice became standard in Chicago. The first through line combined a respect for Miesian principles of construction with a break from the Miesian box and monochromatic palette, evident in a variety of shapes, vibrant colors, historical references, and designs, like his acclaimed Xerox Centre, that engaged the urban context rather than stand apart from it.Ī second through line: The embrace of cutting-edge technology, not for its own sake but for the way it could enhance human experience. But there were distinct through lines as he transitioned from style to style and from wunderkind to old master: And the refined archi-neering of the Sony Center, on which he collaborated with engineer Werner Sobek. The flamboyant postmodernism of the Thompson Center. There was the boldly expressive modernism of McCormick Place, with its vast cantilevered roof, that he designed with Gene Summers. Like many architects with long careers, Helmut’s designs went through formal phases. His United Terminal, a brilliant gateway to Chicago. His Sony Center, an engine of the revitalized Berlin. His Liberty Place towers are icons of Philadelphia. The buildings and urban spaces that emanated from that pen have transformed skylines and cities around the globe. His wife, Deborah, often had to launder spilled brown ink out of the sheets. In the middle of the night, Helmut would awake with an idea, reach for his Mont Blanc pen with the brown ink, and start sketching. Murphy office, Beeby would get to the office at 7:30 on a Sunday morning thinking he was the first to work-only to discover that Helmut already had signed in. When Tom Beeby and Helmut were young guns in the C.F. But that image belied his burning intensity and incredible work ethic. As much as his green Porsche Carrera or his Versace suits, this elegant aerie was part and parcel of Helmut’s glamorous “starchitect” image. ![]() After a quick chat, we would take the bird-cage elevator up to the cupola, a high-ceilinged, light-filled space with fabulous skyline views. Helmut’s office would be filled with architectural models of his latest projects, usually skyscrapers. The boat was named-what else?- Flash Gordon. It was instantly identifiable because of what was in the window-a large model sailboat that advertised his passion for yacht racing. On the appointed day, I’d walk from the Neo-Gothic Tribune Tower to Wacker Drive, from which I could spot Helmut’s third floor office. It’s one of the few firm numbers I still know by heart. Our interactions typically began when I dialed the office phone number, 427-7300, to schedule an interview. ![]() But his core idea-that frank exchanges would sharpen eyes and minds-had the ring of truth. Once, after informing me that I’d been way too easy on a new Chicago skyscraper, he said: “Blair, you will make me a better architect and I will make you a better critic.” That stung. He was, as we say in the journalism trade, great copy. Which is a polite way of saying that Helmut occasionally would use these lunches as a chance to vigorously rebut any criticism I’d leveled at him and his work.ĭespite these face-to-face debates, or perhaps because of them, I always looked forward to seeing Helmut. There, in that reputed former speakeasy, we would have lunch, trade observations, and, sometimes, sparks would fly between architect and critic. Wacker, but also in the cupola of that eclectic 1920s tower. And I observed him at close range, not only in his office at the Jewelers Building at 35 E. I reviewed his buildings on three continents: Europe, North America, and Asia. ![]() I got to know Helmut Jahn and his work from a unique perspective, one that was both global and local. As the Chicago Tribune ’s architecture critic for nearly 30 years.
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