Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Plunges into Pennsylvania (12 page)

What makes the house so special? When it was built, it was an architectural marvel. The three-story home that Wright designed for businessman Edgar J. Kaufmann and his family, juts out 30 feet above a waterfall on Bear Run Creek and is made of reinforced concrete and sandstone. The creek's running water can be heard from every part of the house, the hearth is constructed out of boulders from the creek, and the walls are full of windows, affording breathtaking views of the surrounding forest.

In the early 1930s, Frank Lloyd Wright was badly in need of some income. He'd been one of America's premier architects, but had caused a scandal when he'd left his second wife for another woman (his third wife). Since then, his client list had dwindled, and the Great Depression made the problem worse. With few prospects in sight, Wright's style of architecture—called “organic” because it incorporated a building's environment into the structure's design—was in danger of being lost. Most people felt that Wright, then in his 60s, had already achieved his greatest accomplishments
and that his best years were behind him.

But while attending a party at the home of the Kaufmanns—Edgar Sr., who was president of Kaufmann's department store in Pittsburgh, and his wife, Liliane—Wright made a not-so-subtle push for a job when he remarked that the couple's house wasn't “worthy” of them. The insult must have made an impression because, in December 1934, Kaufmann took Wright to a piece of property he owned in the Pennsyl-vania woods where he planned to replace some aging cabins with a new summer house.

When Kaufmann showed Wright the family's favorite picnic spot—a large, flat rock overlooking a picturesque waterfall on Bear Run Creek—Wright had found what he was looking for: the perfect site for an “organic” house that would seem to grow naturally out of the rocks. As Wright told an interviewer many years later, “The natural thing seemed to be to cantilever the house from that rock bank over the falling water.” It was a daring innovation: a house suspended over a waterfall.

Wright quickly came up with the idea, but he didn't put his plans to paper until Kaufmann came to Wright's studio weeks later to see how the Bear Run project was progressing. Wright began to sketch the plans shortly before Kaufmann arrived, and his staff hurried to finish them while Wright and his unsuspecting client had lunch.

Kaufmann was shocked when he saw Wright's plans for a three-story house hovering above Bear Run Creek. His request for a view of the waterfall had been ignored, and what was worse, he knew this house—which Wright had started calling “Fallingwater”—would cost about $155,000, a lot more than he'd originally planned to spend. The location wasn't what he'd had in
mind, either. Kaufmann said to Wright, “I expected you to build the house beside the falls, not on top of them!”

But Kaufmann had experience as a civic leader and planner of public works buildings, and he realized he was looking at plans for an architectural masterpiece. He knew that Falling water would increase his social standing (as Jews, he and his family had been shut out of Pittsburgh's elite society). And on a more idealistic level, Kaufmann felt that good architecture transformed people's lives for the better. So he gave the go-ahead for Fallingwater.

Building began in the summer of 1936. Local craftsmen excavated sandstone on the property and incorporated it into the house. Vertical sandstone walls separated horizontal “trays” of reinforced concrete that formed the living and bedroom levels on massive terraces that seemed to float above Bear Run.

But suspending a house over a waterfall posed problems, and engineers disagreed about how to make the house structurally sound and stable. One famous controversy erupted over the four concrete beams that supported the living room. Worried that they would collapse, Kaufmann ordered engineers to double the amount of reinforcing steel inside the concrete. Wright was furious that the changes were made without his being consulted, and he sent an angry note to Kaufmann: “I don't know what kind of architect you are familiar with but it apparently isn't the kind I think I am . . . If I do not have your confidence—to hell with the whole thing!” Kaufmann wrote back this famous reply: “I don't know what kind of client you are familiar with but it apparently isn't the kind I think I am. If I do not have your confidence in the matter—to hell with the whole thing . . . P.S. Now don't you think that we should stop writing letters?”

Other conflicts arose over Wright's plan to cover the building in gold leaf to match the surrounding forest's autumn leaves. Kaufmann chose a less expensive solution: beige paint. But in spite of the complications, building went relatively smoothly. By December 1937, the house was ready for the Kaufmanns to move in.

Fallingwater's organic theme continued indoors. The floor was made of huge slabs of polished and waxed sandstone. The large boulder that had been Kaufmann's favorite picnic spot became the hearth of a massive stone fireplace. The living area was an early example of an “open floor plan”—one great room replaced the usual parlor, dining room, and study. Liliane Kaufmann wrote to Wright that her family spent some of the “happiest weekends” they'd ever known in the completed Fallingwater.

The Kaufmanns weren't the only people happy with their new house. About a month after they moved in,
Time
magazine featured a photo of Fallingwater on its cover, proclaiming the house as Wright's “most beautiful job.” The Museum of Modern Art published a book about the house, and architectural critics praised it.

As Fallingwater's fame grew, so did Wright's career. Rumor had it that writer Ayn Rand used the Fallingwater project as inspiration for her novel
The Fountainhead
(Gary Cooper played the Wright-esque architect in the film version), and the good press led to a renaissance for Wright's career. He went on to develop many new projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York City and the Marin County Civic Center in California. Within his lifetime, Wright became known as “the world's greatest architect.”

The Kaufmann family held on to Fallingwater until 1963, when Edgar Kaufmann Jr. turned it over to the public through the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy (WPC). By 2005, more than 2.7 million people had toured the house that
Smithsonian
magazine called “one of 28 places to visit before it's too late.”

But for all its popularity, the building hasn't aged well. Kaufmann—who once called his beloved home the “seven bucket house” for the leaks in its flat roof and the mold in its damp walls—wouldn't have been surprised. The worrisome cantilevered terrace in the living room seems to have become as much of a problem as Kaufmann feared. Not even the extra steel was enough to keep it from drooping over the years.

In 2001, worried that the main terrace would eventually fall into the creek, the WPC launched an $11.5 million restoration of Fallingwater. Engineers not only strengthened the terrace but also restored corroding steel, waterproofed the building, and made water treatment, sewage, and landscape improvements. Today, with the restoration complete, visitors can again tour the home and see many of its original artwork and furnishings.

Pennsylvania is the only state that
. . .

. . . doesn't impose a tax on non-cigarette tobacco products
such as cigars and chewing tobacco.

. . . has two Major League Baseball teams
in the same league: the Philadelphia Phillies and the Pittsburgh Pirates are both in the National League. All others with two—Florida, Illinois, Missouri, New York, Ohio, and Texas—have one team in the American and one in the National League. (California, the only state with more than two teams—it has five—has two in the American and three in the National League.)

. . . doesn't allow local police departments
to use radar to catch speeding drivers. (State police may.)

. . . has made Flag Day
(June 14) a legal state holiday.

. . . has a geologic time period named after it.
The Pennsylvanian period is a subperiod of the Carboniferous, and runs from roughly 320 to 286 million years ago. The term was first used in the 1800s by geologists studying rocks in the Keystone State. (The Mississippian period is named after the river, not the state.)

. . . has a name that requires
all eight fingers (thumbs not included) to type.

. . . gives 100 percent of the proceeds from the state lottery
to
programs for the state's older residents. The Pennsylvania Lottery was established in 1971 and, since then, has contributed more than $18.3 billion to programs for the elderly.

. . . was an original colony, but lacked
an Atlantic coastline.

. . . mines anthracite coal,
the hardest, most lustrous, most pure, and most valuable type.

. . . by law, requires doctors to notify the state
if a patient is unfit to drive for any reason.

. . . does not require that the signing of a will be witnessed
(although many Pennsylvania counties do).

 

 

East side, west side, and all around the state . . . see if you can find the 20 cities hidden in this Pennsylvania-shaped puzzle. (Answers on
page 298
.)

ALLENTOWN

ALTOONA

BETHLEHEM

BLUE BALL

BUTLER

CHESTER

ERIE

HARRISBURG

HERSHEY

JOHNSTOWN

LANCASTER

PHILADELPHIA

PITTSBURGH

POCONOS

RADNOR

READING

SCRANTON

VILLANOVA

WILKES-BARRE

YORK

 

Whether you prefer wine or Welch's, drink up! Pennsylvania grows some of the best grapes in the nation
.

T
he term “wine country” conjures up images of California and France, but parts of Pennsylvania have ideal grape-growing conditions. Rolling hills provide drainage, the growing season is long, and the state gets enough rain each year to provide natural irrigation. As a result, Pennsylvania is home to more than 14,000 acres of grapes, making it the fourth-largest grape producer in the United States. (Only California, Wash-ington, and New York grow more.)

Ninety percent of Pennsylvania's grapes are harvested for juice production. In 1911, the Welch Grape Juice Company built a plant in North East, Pennsylvania, that has become one of the largest grape-processing plants in the world. Today, it covers more than 60 acres and is the largest employer in the area. The plant's 75 tanks can hold 17 million gallons of juice, and it produces about half of Welch's total output.