Genius of Place
Page 1
Table of Contents
ALSO BY JUSTIN MARTIN
Title Page
Dedication
PHOTO CREDITS
Acknowledgements
Introduction
I - “An Enthusiast by Nature”
CHAPTER 1 - So Very Young
CHAPTER 2 - At Sea
CHAPTER 3 - Uncommon Friends
CHAPTER 4 - A Farmer and Finite
CHAPTER 5 - Two Pilgrimages
II - “The Cause of Future Freedom”
CHAPTER 6 - “The South ”
CHAPTER 7 - Tief Im Herzen Von Texas
CHAPTER 8 - A Red-Hot Abolitionist
CHAPTER 9 - The Literary Republic
III - “A People’s Pleasure-Ground”
CHAPTER 10 - “Is New York Really Not Rich Enough?”
CHAPTER 11 - Right Man, Right Place
CHAPTER 12 - A Park Is Born
CHAPTER 13 - Growling Green
CHAPTER 14 - Swans
IV - “Heroes Along with the Rest”
CHAPTER 15 - In Search of a Mission
CHAPTER 16 - In the Republic of Suffering
CHAPTER 17 - Antietam to Gettysburg
CHAPTER 18 - “The Country Cannot Spare You”
V - “There Seems to Be No Limit”
CHAPTER 19 - Gold Dust
CHAPTER 20 - Yosemite
CHAPTER 21 - Unsettled in the West
VI - “Where Talents and the Needs of the World Cross”
CHAPTER 22 - New Prospects
CHAPTER 23 - City Planning Buffalo and Chicago
CHAPTER 24 - Battling Boss Tweed, Splitting with Vaux
CHAPTER 25 - Blindness and Vision
VII - “I Have All My Life Been Considering Distant Effects”
CHAPTER 26 - A Troubled Wander Year
CHAPTER 27 - Stringing Emeralds
CHAPTER 28 - Saving Niagara, Designing Stanford
CHAPTER 29 - Big House in the Big Woods
CHAPTER 30 - A White City Dreamscape
CHAPTER 31 - “Before I Am the Least Prepared for It”
CHAPTER 32 - Fade
EPILOGUE
NOTES
INDEX
APPENDIX - The Olmsted Views
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright Page
ALSO BY JUSTIN MARTIN
Greenspan: The Man Behind Money
Nader: Crusader, Spoiler, Icon
“There’s a great work wants doing,” said FLO.
This book is dedicated to my twin sons, Dash and Theo,
and those are words to live by.
PHOTO CREDITS
John Olmsted (Courtesy of Historic New England)
FLO and friends (Courtesy of the National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
FLO’s brother, John (Historic New England)
Mary Perkins Olmsted (National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
FLO in cap and cape (National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
Greensward plan (Courtesy of City of New York/Parks & Recreation)
The Ramble (Courtesy of The Frances Loeb Library, Harvard Graduate School of Design)
The Cave (The Frances Loeb Library, Harvard Graduate School of Design)
Central Park’s creators (Courtesy of George Eastman House, International Museum of Photography and Film)
The partners (Both from National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
U.S. Sanitary Commission (Courtesy of the New York Public Library)
The cannon (Courtesy of Kansas State Historical Society)
Yosemite (Courtesy of the Yosemite Research Library, National Park Service)
Riverside plan (National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
Fairsted, 99 Steps, and Muddy River (All from National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
Capitol plan and aerial view (Both courtesy of the Architect of the Capitol)
FLO’s three children (The Frances Loeb Library, Harvard Graduate School of Design)
FLO with signature (National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
World’s Fair 1893 (Courtesy of Peter Marsh)
FLO and Marion (National Park Service, Frederick Law Olmsted National Historic Site)
FLO’s Sargent portrait (Courtesy of The Biltmore Company, Asheville, North Carolina)
The Biltmore (The Biltmore Company, Asheville, North Carolina)
McLean (Courtesy of McLean Hospital)
The frontispiece on page vi is a woodcut image that appeared in Frederick Law Olmsted’s A Journey Through Texas. It was based on a sketch by Olmsted, featuring himself and his brother John camping on the prairie.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It starts with my subject—thanks to Frederick Law Olmsted. Fresh from college, on my very first day in New York City, I followed a hectic round of job interviews by seeking refuge in Central Park. At the time, my thoughts went something like this: “Who created this amazing place?” This launched an interest in Frederick Law Olmsted that, with time, has only grown. I was married in Central Park, his masterpiece. After my twin sons were born, I moved to Forest Hills Gardens, New York, a 147-acre planned community that is Frederick Law Olmsted Jr.’s masterpiece.
Writing this book was a huge project, and I can honestly say that my two years steeped in Olmsted’s story were a pleasure. Thanks again, FLO, for leading such a large, varied, interesting life. It made my job fun.
A great big thanks is also due my friend Catherine Fredman. After Catherine landed a gig as a guide for the Central Park Conservancy, I accompanied her on a number of her excellent tours. My Olmsted fascination grew, and I began to think about writing a biography. Once the project got under way, Catherine continued to help: reading drafts, chasing down hard-to-find facts, cheering me on.
At my publisher, Da Capo, it was a great pleasure to work once again with Merloyd Lawrence. She’s an old-school editor in the very best sense. The rap on publishing these days is that harried editors have no time to shape books. Happily, that was not my experience. From the germ of an idea to finished book, this was truly a collaboration. Every single page of this text features changes, additions, and literary flourishes wisely suggested by my editor. Thanks, Merloyd!
At Da Capo, I also wish to thank Lissa Warren, publicist nonpareil. Well into the Internet age, Lissa remains a pro at getting attention for books. Kudos to Jonathan Sainsbury for the gorgeous cover design and to Brent Wilcox for such an elegant design of the book’s interior. I also want to thank Annette Wenda for a thoughtful and meticulous job of copyediting, which served to further refine and clarify the text. Annie Lenth: Thanks for keeping things rolling in production.
To write a book on Olmsted, you really need to visit his creations. I wish to thank a number of people for conducting me through various Olmsted sites. What follows can’t help but read like a list. But that’s an injustice. All of these people gave generously of their time and shared their knowledge while showing me around the assorted majestic works of FLO.
Julia Bachrach of the Chicago Park District brought the 1893 World’s Fair vividly to life during our visit to modern-day Jackson Park; Lonnie Sacchi provided a superb walking tour of Riverside, Illinois, a model suburb designed by Olmsted; my appreciation to Tim O’Connell, a peerless historian, for a thoroughly memorable and memorably thorough survey of the Rochester park system; Alan Banks of the National Park Service provided valuable domestic details on my subject at Fairsted, Olmsted’s home in Brookline, Massachusetts; Jeanie Knox of the Emerald Necklace Conservancy guided me through the Back Bay Fens and other gems of the Boston system; Lanae Ha
ndy introduced me to Boston’s Franklin Park, and Chris McArdle led me around the Arnold Arboretum; I spent a wonderful morning with Dennis Evanosky and Barbara Smith at Oakland’s Mountain View Cemetery, a graveyard with a scenic setting that’s simply unrivaled; thanks to David Lenox for the tour of Stanford, one of the world’s most striking campuses; historian Bill Alexander provided invaluable perspective on the incomparable Biltmore Estate, and Susanne Woodell showed me around its grounds; Steve Livengood of the U.S. Capitol Historical Society gave me fresh perspective on a place I’d visited countless times—the Capitol grounds—revealing all kinds of hidden and inspired Olmsted touches; Christian Zimmerman and Amy Peck of the Prospect Park Alliance gave me a great tour of this timeless Brooklyn green space; and thanks to Terry Bragg for guiding me through the historic landscape of McLean Hospital, whose grounds evoke both sadness and hope.
I also want to give a special thanks to Francis Kowsky, who provided a wonderful tour of the Buffalo park system. Throughout the project, Dr. Kowsky, author of the excellent Country, Park, and City: The Architecture and Life of Calvert Vaux, went above and beyond, fielding my assorted questions.
An invaluable resource, while working on this biography, was the Olmsted papers, a multivolume collection of park plans, letters from private collections, unpublished manuscripts, and assorted Olmsted-alia. My appreciation to project editor Charles Beveridge and his team for this decades-long enterprise, still under way. I am also grateful to Laura Wood Roper, a pioneering Olmsted biographer who generously donated many letters she unearthed to the Library of Congress.
My uncle David Mel Paul, a researcher guidance volunteer at the LOC, helped me get rolling at this incredible institution. I appreciated the opportunity to stay with him and my aunt Margareta while visiting Washington, D.C. In the course of doing my research, I also visited a number of other archives and libraries and found the librarians and other staffers unfailingly helpful. I especially want to thank Mary Daniels of the Frances Loeb Library at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Design. With my deadline fast approaching, she generously arranged for me to work in the special collections outside normal hours. Mary also described John Olmsted, FLO’s adopted son, as “dutiful to the point of masochism,” a line so irresistible that I simply cribbed it for my book.
I’m indebted to Larry Hott of Florentine Films, who is working on an Olmsted documentary that will air on PBS. I’m serving as a consultant to the project, a role that has greatly helped me to clarify my thoughts on Olmsted. I also want to thank Marjorie Perlman for her support, which included inviting me to speak before the Friends of the University of Rochester Libraries.
Rex and Donna Martin, my parents, are architecture aficionados who have made recent trips to such far-flung places as Riga, Latvia (stellar examples of art nouveau), and Bartlesville, Oklahoma (Frank Lloyd Wright’s only skyscraper). They happily joined me for my Buffalo and Chicago research junkets. My dad is an emeritus philosophy professor and my mom a book editor who has lately allowed herself the luxury of slowing down (ever so slightly). My parents provided all kinds of help with choosing words and checking facts. Most of all, they have believed in me and loved me for . . . oh, only my entire life. I also want to thank my in-laws, Sylvia Charlesworth and Gerald Kressman, for their constant encouragement. On my worst days of writing, I’d remind myself there were people who truly wanted me to finish this book—Sylvia and Mr. K. That always helped; thank you both. I also want to thank my cousin Brett Perkins, a superb writer. His book, Frantic Francis: How One Coach’s Madness Changed Football, and our insanely free-ranging conversations helped shape this book.
My friend Scott Marcus points out that authors invariably close their acknowledgments by thanking their spouses for “putting up with them through the grueling process of writing this book.” Very astute, Scott. I want to thank my wife, Liza Charlesworth, for putting up with me during the grueling process of writing this book. Of course, Liza did so much more. She is my partner, my collaborator, my toughest critic, my biggest fan, my best friend, the love of my life. It ends with Liza, as always.
INTRODUCTION
Why Olmsted Matters
ON MARCH 25, 1893, a gala dinner was held in honor of Daniel Burnham, driving force behind the Columbian Exposition, a World’s Fair about to open in Chicago. Various artists and architects who had worked on the project gathered for this lavish event.
But when Burnham took the stage to be feted, he chose to deflect credit away from himself and onto someone else instead. “Each of you knows the name and genius of him who stands first in the heart and confidence of American artists, the creator of your own parks and many other city parks,” said Burnham. “He it is who has been our best adviser and our constant mentor. In the highest sense he is the planner of the Exposition—Frederick Law Olmsted.” Burnham paused to let that sink in. Then he added: “An artist, he paints with lakes and wooded slopes; with lawns and banks and forest-covered hills; with mountain sides and ocean views. He should stand where I do tonight, not for the deeds of later years alone, but for what his brain has wrought and his pen has taught for half a century.” A collective roar went up among those assembled.
Burnham’s tribute provides a sense of Olmsted’s stature and importance. But effusive as it is, it still fails to do him full justice. His life and career were just too sprawling and spectacular. Ask people today about Olmsted, and they’re likely to come back with a few stray details—best case. But his achievements are immense. Olmsted may well be the most important American historical figure that the average person knows least about.
Olmsted is best remembered as the pioneer of landscape architecture in the United States. He created New York City’s Central Park and a number of other green spaces, often in collaboration with his sometime partner Calvert Vaux. Olmsted designed the grounds of scores of private estates, Stanford and assorted college campuses, several mental institutions, and a pair of cemeteries. For these achievements alone, Olmsted would have a measure of lasting fame. At a time when open space is at a premium, he’s left a legacy of green in city after city across America and in Canada, too.
But he was also an environmentalist. This is a separate role from landscape architect. “I was born for a traveler,” Olmsted once said, and he managed to roam most of the country in the course of his lifetime. Along the way, he became aware that some of the most striking natural landscapes were under siege. Olmsted played a crucial role in the early efforts to preserve Yosemite and Niagara Falls, for example. Over time, he began to bring environmental considerations to his park work as well. He designed Boston’s Back Bay Fens not only as a park but also as America’s very first effort at wetlands restoration.
Preserving wild places is different from crafting urban spaces, and it’s a vital Olmsted role that is often overlooked. I devoted a great deal of research time and did abundant spadework in an effort to reconstruct this aspect of his story. This biography is designed, among other things, to give Olmsted his due as a pioneering environmentalist.
But he was so much more. Olmsted was a sailor, a scientific farmer, and a late bloomer nonpareil. During the Civil War, he did a stint as the head of a battlefield relief outfit. (In the postwar years, the outfit—after many twists and convolutions—became the basis for the American Red Cross.) He also took a fascinating detour, moving out to California and managing a legendary but ill-starred gold-mining enterprise.
Olmsted was no dilettante, though. He simply did a lot of different things and did them well. It was the nineteenth century, and a younger America was in the grip of a frontier mind-set. All things seemed possible; all hands on deck. During this era, people didn’t have to carve out narrow areas of specialization. It was an ideal time for someone of Olmsted’s gifts. Seeking varied experience was his essence, as surely as Mark Twain’s essence was to turn a phrase.
At the same time, there’s a common theme that runs through many of Olmsted’s diverse endeavors. First, last, always, he was a reformer.
No disrespect to Americans who came of age in the 1940s, often called the “Greatest Generation,” but Olmsted’s cohort (those who came of age in the 1840s) was pretty great in its own right. It was an especially socially conscious period in the country’s history, and it produced people who fought for the rights of the physically disabled and the mentally ill and—in the North—for the freedom of slaves.
Olmsted was very much a part of his generation. Thus, he didn’t become a scientific farmer merely as a way to make a living. He did so because, at a time when America was a predominantly agricultural nation, the vocation represented a chance to benefit society by demonstrating the latest cutting-edge practices. He became a park maker because, at a time when cities were especially dense and teeming, it was a way to provide recreation and relief to the masses.
When it comes to reform, however, there’s no question that some of Olmsted’s most notable contributions came from yet another erstwhile vocation—journalist. That’s what Burnham alluded to when he said “his pen has taught” in the tribute to Olmsted.
During the 1850s, Olmsted traveled throughout the American South as a reporter for a brand-new paper, the New-York Daily Times. (The paper later dropped Daily from it name.) His mandate was to approach the region almost like a foreign correspondent. In the course of his travels, Olmsted interviewed both white plantation owners and black slaves and produced a series of extraordinary dispatches—balanced, penetrating, humane. As a consequence, Olmsted managed to lay bare the evils of slavery in a way that other more polemical works of the era often did not. For Northerners anxious to understand the South in the years right before the Civil War, Olmsted’s dispatches were one of the best windows.
When war finally erupted, Olmsted’s writings from the 1850s continued to furnish a vital perspective, this time to British readers. Britain was on the fence at the beginning of the conflict, uncertain whether to side with the Union or the Confederacy. In 1861, Olmsted’s The Cotton Kingdom—an updated compendium of his collected Southern writings—was published in England. The Cotton Kingdom helped sway British public opinion toward the Union cause.