A Celebration – Remembering our time in Campbell Hall

As we get ready for the Reopening in October, we want to look back, remember and celebrate the 38 years that Campbell Hall has been the home–away–from–home for thousands of A–School students, faculty and staff. Our School continues to grow and with the additions complete, there will be more space, more students and more memories. Campbell Hall may look a little different but the stories the walls can tell, remain the same.

No one knows the hallways, studios and review rooms better than you. Tell us your stories — the everyday occurrences you miss, a life–changing moment, an unforgettable lecture, that embarrassing time, one of the many funny late–night stories — all within Campbell Hall. If you would like to join in the Celebration by sharing your favorite Campbell Hall memory, please email kimwong@virginia.edu.

The most memorable charrette for me, was one of my first. This was before I really learned how to charrette correctly, when I thought that staying up all night for 3 consecutive nights was what a charrette was. Only later, thanks in part to this story, did I learn that 5 nights in a row with three hours sleep was far far preferable to three in a row without any.

In any event, this charrette was intense. I was in Ralph Lerner’s studio, where all of the drawings were done on Strathmore board, in ink. Around midnight, I had finished the axonometric (always a required drawing), and was measuring to cut off the extra board from the top border. Somehow through the gloom of my tired mind, I turned the board over and measured the same 6 inches from the top again, and I cut the board with my Exacto. Of course, when I had turned the board over, the top became the bottom, and the cut I had just made had sliced my axonometric in half. In my exhausted state, my emotions overwhelmed me. I screamed (so loud that others thought I had sliced my finger off, but that was a later charrette) and ranted and raved about how I was going to fail, get kicked out of school and waste my life. The only way to describe it was that I lost it completely. This is when the true character of the architecture studio became apparent to me.

My classmates guided me to the Naugahyde–out downstairs. They gave me some water and suggested I just sit and calm down. Of course almost instantly I fell asleep. I awoke in another panic, as I saw that it was bright sunlight outside. All I could think was: What time is it? Where are my drawings? What about my destroyed sheet? I looked at my watch, it was 2:30 PM and the review was at 2:00 PM. When I looked up I saw two of my classmates, one with a clean shirt in his hands for me, the other with my notes for my presentation. I changed shirts, sprinted into the jury room to begin to put up my remaining drawings, and what I found stopped me in my tracks. I found my entire presentation already on the wall, my sliced drawing carefully taped together so the cut was barely visible. I was next in the jury. I gave my presentation in a haze, and prepared for my drubbing from Mr. Lerner and the other jurors.&nb sp; Instead, the jury congratulated me on my clear presentation, both graphic and spoken, made minor suggestions, and moved on to the next project. Mr. Lerner, who could see a gnat from 50 feet, never even noticed my sliced drawing. I had survived, thanks to my classmates. That is when I learned both the value of sleep, and the value of true friends.

That is what I remember about the architecture studio at Campbell Hall.

My best Campbell Hall memory goes back to Lessons of the Lawn with Peter Waldman. While I gradually learned to appreciate the course and ended up being a teaching assistant during my fourth year, as a student in the course, I had a tendency to nap instead of listen. The early morning lectures were a bit of a struggle, especially in Campbell 153, where the low light and ample legroom of the front row of the back section provided an extremely effective sleeping environment that I’m certain has no equal (except for, perhaps, Campbell 158: a comparison that I would rigorously test in the coming years). This napping tendency became a bit of a problem during one lecture when after dozing for a good chunk of the class, I was awoken by a sharp elbow in my side, and the awestruck faces of at least eight rows of my classmates in front of me. When I turned to my neighbor to ask if I had been snoring, I saw a look of astonishment and embarrassment by association that I had never witnessed before accompanied by an exasperated nod. Thankfully, Peter did not miss a beat in his lecture as I sunk lower into my seat and my face turned a brilliant shade of red. I vowed never to fall asleep in class again, until I grudgingly succumbed to the tempting surroundings and nodded off several minutes later. Some of my classmates interpreted this incident as a rebellious statement against the course material and lecture format. I, however, had no intention of such rabble rousing, and saw the incident as a learning opportunity. Through this experience, I learned that whether exhausted by a long night in studio, bleary after a futile attempt to finish my structures bridge project in the wee hours of the morning, or even just groggy after having a little too much fun the night before, the best place for me to be was in Cambpell 153.

George the chicken has to be one of my best memories of Campbell Hall. Fourth year, we were all in the studio on the second floor by the parking lot. One day someone said, “Hey, there’s a chicken out there!” And so there was. Sheltering from the wind in the deep recess of the window was a very sad looking rooster which had clearly escaped from some Fraternity House holding illegal chicken fights. Most of his feathers were pecked away and he had no tail plumage at all, just a flesh colored stump. Still, the chicken seemed to have found a home in this protected outside corner of the building. One of my classmates went out to build a small stick shelter for him, and another put out a small pie tin with water. Then I went to the pet shop to get some bird feed and every day we were all looking after George the Chicken. He provided great entertainment just on the other side of the glass. He would come out when we would go to feed him and he even started crowing first thing in the morning. Eventually his feathers started growing back and George was looking like a happy and healthy chicken. Then one day some people started shouting for me that there were men outside with a net. Someone had called security and they had come to capture George. Well, we went outside to ask them what they were doing but of course they didn’t care about us– they just went for George who was squawking like mad. They chased him all the way down the side of the building to the concrete exit stair. George ran up the stair and they rain up after him. Next thing I knew, George had catapulted himself off the stair, flapping wildly to the ground and ran back up to his ’home’ outside our window into the thick bushes there. Still squawking like mad, the two men couldn’t get into the thick bushes, and eventually gave up. So we put a scorecard up in the window, George 1, Security 0. They came again and failed again, George 2, Security 0. Sadly, it was the Spring semester, and eventually charrette ended, and so did the jurys. I was still coming by the school to finish up my project for furniture design (of course!!) and would still feed George and could hear him crowing while I waited for Dave by the woodshop entrance. I don’t know what happened to him in the end. I’d like to think he lived out his days back there, being fed by successive years of architecture students, crowing at the sunrise.

Memory Two – Architecture students, although always busy, have far too much opportunity and the supplies to indulge their procrastination desires. Small prank constructions or humorous notes would always start to appear once classes had finished and the studios were occupied day and night with hard working students. One fall semester during end of the year charrette, I remember waiting for the elevator after heading down to the vending machines for a snack (you could only use the elevator at night, during the day it was for faculty and visitors). When the doors opened and I went inside, I thought it was a bit dim so I looked up and someone had cut out a silhouette of a reindeer head with a red nose, with the obligatory blood puddle at the severed neck. This had somehow been placed on the other side of the light fitting, and was fantastically funny at two in the morning. I believe it stayed up for at least the rest of the week. Superb.

Campbell Hall memory….cutting off the tip of my finger with a very sharp xacto blade (but NOT bleeding on my model)….then have my dear friends wrap the finger in yellow trace paper and tape, tell me to hold it upright and decide we’d go to the ER as soon as happy hour was over! (In the good old days when 18 was old enough.)

Second memory…having a bit of 4th year–itis, I convinced the others working on a preservation/town planning project to help build the town model out of cake…and we could simply eat the buildings slated for removal. Sounded like a great idea until we found the Governor’s wife (who had an interest in preservation) sitting in on the charrette that day; fortunately everyone had a sense of humor!

One of my fondest memories occurred when I was transferring into the School from Liberal Arts and Sciences and taking Professor Vickery’s “Sharing Architecture” class. Because I was an older student (aka third year in a first year class), I bonded with a bunch of the TA’s for the class and was sort of initiated into the late night hijinks. One of which was repelling down the big north–facing studio windows in the middle of the night! I do not recall names, how we got up there, or any details that might be used to prosecute any of those involved (!) but the risk at that time was worth it when we saw all the sleep deprived faces staring out at our feet on the glass in disbelief!

Another fond memory was during summer studio under the guidance of Professor Schwartz. We were assigned a project to poetically present what we were passionate about. I was currently minoring in Astronomy, so I spent the entire night prior to the presentation in one of the classrooms on the third floor taking out the emergency fluorescent lights, and putting glow–in–the dark stars all over the ceiling (in proper configurations of course). So when it was my turn to present, a classmate turned off the lights, another handed me a plastic lightsaber that I used to point to all the constellations and my drawings (in the dark of course). When the lights came back on, the jurors were either trying hard to contain laughs, or as with Professor Schwartz, shaking his head in his hand, saying “that was just sad.”

During the ’70’s oil embargo crisis, we were told that the studio would be closed in the evenings, to save energy. As would be expected, there was a big outcry. The compromise was that individual Luxo Lamps only were allowed, and only the existing emergency lighting. Of course, back then, you were also allowed to smoke in the studio (cigarettes et. al.)

I?ll never forget bringing my infant son in for a few “all–nighters” with my fellow classmates as we worked to complete a project – he slept “like a baby” in his pack–and–play next to a drafting table!

The entire school being lectured by Dean Boserman in the studio, after what was a large two story blank white wall in the studio became the receiving end of a series of balloons filled with paint.

Late afternoon, noticing the Ringling Brothers Circus train stopped on the tracks, and a number of students wandering out of the studio and through the cars visiting with the performers.

My favorite Campbell Hall memory is watching the extravagant thunderstorms through the huge windows of the 3rd and 4th floor studio space. Especially on the weekends when there were very few people around. I would just sit on the stairs at the 4th floor and stare out the window at nature’s exhibition. I live in California now and those cinematic weather events are rare to non–existent. I treasured those impromptu study breaks!

1. I am sensitive to caffeine as I learned while drinking Mountain Dew from the Campbell Hall vending machines. I knew that if I needed to stay awake for 3–4 days, simply one Dew would do!

2. My birthday is in March, right around Spring Break and the time that projects are due. My third year, I turned 21, and was on charrette during my birthday. Friends came at 12:01 am the day of my birthday and convinced me to leave the studio, “just for a while” to celebrate the occasion. We spent the night in bars on The Corner, drinking all kinds of things but topping it off with Long Island Iced Teas. I returned to my drafting table in the wee hours, with the intent of getting back to work. Even with a parallel bar and a triangle, I was unable to draw a straight line. I had to go home and sleep for a few hours, but I did return and I did finish.

3. I made a vow (that I have kept to this day) to design more women’s bathroom fixtures that are required by code because of the shortage of women’s toilets in Campbell all. Every Beaux Arts Ball, the men’s rooms became additional Women’s rooms and the guys were out of luck. The line of women waiting for the toilets still spilled out into the studios.

4. Since you are not permitted to have a car on campus your fist semester, I had a bicycle that I road from Bonnycastle to Campbell Hall. There were no bike racks at that time and the parking area that backed up to the fraternities was being resurfaced with bricks. I always chained my bike to the sign post as you come up the drive to Campbell Hall, behind the fraternities. Construction trucks ran over the sign and my bike one day. That was the end of my bike.

5. I really enjoyed the weekly Happy Hours that we had outside.

6. Ralph Learner taught my first year studio class. I remember for one of the first pin–ups; an assignment using color–aid paper cut into patterns. In one of the crit rooms, in front of the whole class, he walked past mine and asked, “Whose is this? It looks as if it was cut with a butter knife!”

7. I learned a lot about public speaking, presenting and justifying my work in those critiques. I felt sorry for those who were reduced to tears, engaged in arguments with professors, or simply dropped out of the program because of the critiques. That part of the education served me quite well.

8. I was a big basketball fan. This was the era of Ralph Sampson, Ricky Stokes, etc. I slept for a week in UHall to get tickets to the Final Four in Philly. I had front row seats, on the floor, under the basket, next to Indiana’s pep band. (Isaiah Thomas was their star.) The issue was that the games meant I would miss Tuesday’s architecture class with Ralph Learner. I told him about it in advance, turned in the assignment early, but he was not pleased and told me he could not give me full credit for the assignment because I was not in class to present it. When I explained where I would be, he sneered, and asked if I was a cheerleader. I replied, “No, just an avid Wahoo fan, and you can give me a zero for the assignment if you want.” He was shocked.

I remember…Working late, not focusing on what time it was…I turned to look over my shoulder at a friend seated beside me (also working late), and noticed that the sun was coming up…I had no idea I had worked all night.

I remember…The legendary HVAC system in the studio. Freezing cold in the winter; we protested by all wearing gloves, scarves and hats in the studio. Very hard to draw with gloves on; we had to abandon the protest!

I graduated in 1988 with a Master of Planning degree. My favorite classes were always those with Rosser Payne–he was an incredible teacher both in professional and practical matters. He used to drive from Warrenton to Charlottesville for every class, even in driving snow. Of all my faculty, he made the strongest and most important imprint on my planning and urban design career. He taught us to be thorough, conscientious in every respect, but also to get the “big picture.” Rosser Payne had also been a WWII U.S. Army bomber pilot who had lost many of his fellow pilots in the Pacific theater. He used to talk about them from time to time–I can never forget those moments, very emotional, even today. I think he remains the faculty member I associated most with honor and integrity, not only in his professional planning career, but in life itself. He was an exceptional individual. I will always cherish the memories of his classes and the life lessons that came with doses of planning wisdom (somehow we all need to get more of the former–it makes us better people and planners!).

Despite its space limitations and age, I never thought of Campbell Hall as anything but a great place to learn; inviting and stimulating. The faculty all around, were fantastic.

Our studio professor said, “I’ll be here at midnight and you’d all better be there!”

I remember all the all–nighters prior to deadlines… It’s a strange time of night yet so many people are there at Campbell Hall. We’d go to “machine city” to get caffeine and sugar. Late in the night or early the next morning, we’d go to Little Johns for something like a nuclear sub. I remember sleeping on my drafting table, sleeping in the soft seats down on the 1st floor. Sometimes we walked around just to wake up and feel human again.

One of my favorite memories of Campbell Hall was the Beaux Arts Ball 1979 – “Egytian Splendor” was the theme. The champagne flowed, including into the electrical floor outlets creating a splendid indoor fireworks show!

And also, I once observed someone standing/ leaning forehead first against the 3rd floor bay window in the Studio (at the base of the stair from the 4th floor). It was about 7am, and this person was sound asleep – even snoring. I did not disturb them.

Final Summer session studio Presentations– 4 am morning – 3/4ths of the studio was still there, cranking away, when one of our classmates, realized she had been cutting her model on top of our final plan drawing.

Richard Hagg Lecture – His inspiring lecture was instrumental in my decision to apply for a dual degree.

Snack Raffle – the things we came up with for fun during finals…I don?t even know how to explain this to other people!

Here are some of my Campbell Hall memories from a quarter century ago (1981–’85), in no particular order:

1. Phillip Johnson touring the studio, perusing our work in progress, and asking “why so much moderne?”

2. Joe Bosserman asking if my dad owns a paper mill (as a deadpan critique of the amount of yellow trace that got wasted every time I started to sketch something).

3. Working in the studio for 72 hours straight –– fueled by candy, cola and No–Doze –– to complete a project before the deadline. (At the end of which I did have time to go home and get cleaned up before it was due –– so at least I wasn’t still drawing “en charrette”).

4. Attending A–School–sponsored Friday happy hour in the courtyard then returning to studio to “work” on a project after having consumed many fists–full of potato chips or corn chips –– and several beers (before the legal age was moved to 21) –– and then returning to my drafting table a day or two later and asking myself “what is this crap?”

5. Using spray adhesive as a flame–thrower. (Kids, don’t imitate this jackass stunt –– inadvertently, I nearly removed a classmate’s eyebrows).

6. Modeling a clay bust caricature of classmate Brett Copeland, complete with a fork sticking in his eye. (Thankfully the accident this commemorated, which happened at his Lambeth Field apartment, caused no permanent damage).

7. Being prompted by Warren Byrd to summarize Homer’s Odyssey for my classmates and his fellow jury members, when I presented a garden design that was inspired by the ancient epic poem.

8. Sometimes nodding off in Dr. Zuk’s structures class –– but (unlike many others) always being enthralled by the “armchair travel” of slide shows in history lectures presented by Jim Cox, Reuben Rainey and Richard Guy Wilson.

9. Looking for thematic or aesthetic connections between slide lectures and accessories (ties, handkerchiefs) worn by the lecturer.

10. Being addressed as “Admiral” by Joe Bosserman, because I wore my midshipman uniform to Campbell Hall every Tuesday.

11. Listening to Jack Robertson at gatherings in the central studio of all A–School faculty and students.

12. Marveling at the artistic talent of classmate Andrew Moore (a master watercolorist, among other achievements).

13. Completing four years without touching either a slide rule or a CADD system (also without having properly calibrated “GAYDAR”).

14. Observing how certain people –– such as Kyle Kauffman and Mike Jones –– light up a room (even a big room like studio) whenever they enter.

15. Learning from Robert Vickery to ask very basic, foundational questions, like “what is art?”

Campbell Hall memories? Where to begin?

Water balloon fights (Water and vellum: not such a good mix.); 10–minute catnaps on your drawing board (Why sleep at home in a bed when you can sleep sitting on stool while resting your head on the equivalent of plywood?); countless sunsets in studio (And seemingly more sunrises.); great parties at the fraternities next door (Heard, not seen.); last minute, desperate, and ultimately futile, efforts to complete a project (Where did all that time go? I thought I had plenty!); building “boats” for the Regatta (This year, my ideas will work. Actually, not really.); cleaning up the aftermath of the Beaux Arts Ball (Why yes, champagne induced vomit does strip the sealant off of linoleum tiling.); falling asleep during a jury (While standing.); and many others.

But the best one: Being handed that diploma on a hot Sunday morning in May!

In the spring of 1978, I was waiting in the hallway of Campbell for my husband, Joseph, who was in the Master of Planning program (MUEP 1980), to be finished with his class. On a whim, I stepped into the nearest classroom, sat down, and discovered my own field of study, one which before then I hadn’t even known existed. Richard Guy Wilson was teaching an architectural history class, and within three minutes I was hooked. The next year, I began in the Bachelor of Architectural History program, which set me on the course for all the subsequent paths my career has since taken. All from an impulsive ducking into a class in Campbell!

The SARC T–shirt contest got out of control including sparkly half shirts and hundreds of absurd entries. It came crashing down when WG Clark said it was a disgrace.

I helped to build Campbell Hall during the summer before it opened. My job, among other less interesting duties, was to install all of the urinals. I worked on this with a guy who wore the same T shirt every day for two months. He was about 150 pounds overweight and the shirt was about 3 sizes too small for him. The most amazing part was how he was able to work in the expletive “f**king” into every fourth or fifth word in virtually every sentence he spoke. To this day, I have never found anyone else, including myself, who could to this for more than a few sentences. You see it to some extent on the HBO shows like “Deadwood” and “The Sopranos”, but never as consistently as my co–worker that summer.

I had completed four years at Dartmouth before I started my three year stint at UVA. By starting in the third year, I began with no experience at all. I had done no drafting, no designing, and no architectural thinking. I recall not knowing how to even get the lead out of the mechanical pencil. Over the next three years of the program, I had a great time living in Charlottesville. I was newly married, which is probably why I had a great time living in Charlottesville. Meeting my wife at 6:30 am after many nights working in Campbell Hall just as she was leaving for her teaching job was not so great.

At no point were we taught anything about construction. When I went to work for VVKR in Alexandria one day after leaving school, that fact hit me. They wanted me to draw wall sections for a school. No one had even told us what a wall section was. I had to look at similar drawings in the office files to figure it out. The only thing that saved me was those all–nighters I had learned to pull at UVA. I simply worked for 23 of that day’s 24 hours until the wall sections were done.

The University has generated many fond memories for me, my wife, and my two children. We all graduated from UVA and we all still love the place. When I was going to Campbell Hall, the football team rarely won a game. It was a sleepy town. The most exciting things we did were: (1) Visit the Morton’s frozen food factory in Crozet during the hot summers. Just sitting in our un–air conditioned MGB–GT and watching people wearing parkas in their picture window made us feel cool. (2) Attending the opening of the K–Mart on Barracks Road. This was the first and only big store in town at the time. Dolly Parton sang along with the late Porter Wagoner. It was great and it was air conditioned!

Since 1970, I’ve been fortunate to have been able to design a few hundred million dollars worth of buildings, many award–winners. I’m still working 16–18 hours every day (including weekends and most holidays). VVKR, which was then the largest office in the region, gave me assignments and never looked over my shoulder even once. I suppose UVA must have prepared me for this somehow without my realizing it. Forty years later, I understand that being an architect is primarily a function of how well you can solve problems. Figuring out how to install urinals was just as important as figuring out my senior year thesis as it turned out. Both tasks forced you to think for yourself.

In the autumn of 1969 I entered the 5–year B. Arch. program. Our first year class of 60 or so fresh high school graduates were tightly arranged at drafting tables in a non–descript gray metal prefab building behind Fayerweather Hall, where John Ruseau introduced us to what “architecture” was really all about. We were the last entering class to experience the Fayerweather complex. We all moved into spacious, noisy, Campbell Hall at the beginning of the spring semester, in January, 1970. The bulk of the art and architecture library was moved, quickly and efficiently, by a “book brigade” of students lined up from Fayerweather, passing in front of Bayley Museum, into the new library.

My most enduring memory of Campbell Hall is the din of music from vinyl on turntables that students brought in from home, reverberating through the studios, late at night––typically something like “Tommy,” Janis Joplin, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, and Iron Butterfly. The more focused memories are of all–school meetings led earnestly by Dean Norwood Bosserman, and afternoon studio sessions with Carlo Pellicia, Ed Lay, Ed White, Mario di Valmarana, and Robert Vickery,or morning lectures, with whiplash from sleepless nights, by James Cox and William Zuk. A special memory is the evening in 1974 that Louis Kahn, just months before he died, gave a public lecture, followed by an outdoor reception in the courtyard. The diminutive Kahn was difficult to see, much less talk to, as he was mobbed by a circle of awed students.

An embarrassing moment with Professor Dr Zuk – Late sixties or early seventies, Campbell Hall was brand new. Structures Class (location not certain). Early morning after all night working on a design presentation in Campbell Hall.

Dr Zuk had been lecturing what seemed like all day. He was lecturing about Buckminster Fuller and had a slide of a transparent dome over NYC on the screen. I was semi–conscious not hearing a word that was coming out of his mouth, EXCEPT MY NAME. Horrified not knowing what he was asking me, I slowly opened my eyes and said “Do you really think we could build such a big dome over a city?” His question was answered with my question (total mistake). He replied “Of Course. What do you think?”. At this point not thinking at all I blurted out, “It’s too big” – another big mistake.

He belted out my name in disgust (I think also to wake everyone else in the class. We were all working on the same design project), turned his back and went on with his lecture. To this day I still do not know what his question was. But that slide still sends my brain to another time.

I remember finding a half gallon of singapore slings in my refrigerator in the studio as a birthday present from a friend!

I remember being on charrette, staying at the A–school all night, having a egg,bacon and cheese sandwich in the snack bar, and going straight to class in one of the lecture halls. That sandwich could never taste as good– is the snack bar even still there? It was a lifesaver!

I remember dodging and tweaking one photograph in the dark room until I got the effects just right– the teacher promised that if I reproduced an “accident” of developing on purpose that I would get an “A”– and it took some doing– but I was ultimately successful! It was of a huge old tree just outside the window of the studio– maybe it’s not even there anymore.

The cat, Corbu, who used to stroll around the building looking for hapless birds who had collided with the big windows.

Oh, yes, I remember some architectural instruction too….

It was sometime in 1992 and I was new to the School. I am not sure if I was even enrolled yet in the Masters of Landscape Architecture program from which I later graduated. I think I was just taking a course at that point. In any case, I was up on the terrace of Campbell Hall near the Library entrance and I see a small old, bespectacled man with a big white moustache. He is walking around looking confused. I asked him if I could help him and he introduced himself as Roberto Burle Marx, (the famous Brazilian landscape architects and one of the preeminent and iconic figures in the field ) ! He had come to give a lecture and was searching for the front door and could not find it ! He was looking into the library door, but was not sure if it was the right way into the main building (easy mistake ). The building’s confusing layout and circulation provides a lesson in what not to do . Even one of the most talented designers of the century, like many other visitors , was befuddled by the strange layout of our beloved Campbell Hall!

I have many good memories from being there in that Hall: a place where great talent and confusion (at times ) can coexist.