For design splendor, McKim's built to last

7 December 2001

The Harleston Parker Award, given annually by the Boston Society of Architects to the most beautiful new building in the metropolitan area, goes this year to one of Boston's oldest: the Public Library's McKim building.

That's right. The McKim building, first opened at the turn of the last century, just yesterday won one of architecture's most prestigious awards. Long regarded as one of the finest examples of architecture in the nation and - along with the nearby Trinity Church and John Hancock Tower - one of the three best buildings in the city, it might seem the McKim needed no new awards.

Yet, architectural projects eligible for the Harleston Parker award include not only freshly designed buildings but also those that have been significantly rehabilitated. And the last few years have seen more than $35 million poured into a massive renovation and restoration of the McKim. Led by the architectural firm of Shepley Bulfinch Richardson and Abbott, workers not only brought back past glories but also significantly changed the building, adding new spaces (particularly in the basement levels) and reconfiguring old.

This year's award jury consisted of 10 design professionals and one wannabe - me - whose high level of ignorance and inability to draw a straight line were tolerated with remarkably good grace. The jury considered dozens of buildings for the award; to be eligible, a project had to have been completed within the last 10 years.

The single criterion for the award is notable. It's not boldness or innovation or clever design that wins the Harleston Parker. It's beauty, something few of us think about on a regular basis. Yet, for those who sat on the jury, understanding what beauty was became central to giving the award.

Our discussions sometimes had a philosophical, almost ethereal tone. Real beauty, we decided, had to be enduring, not faddish. It should be multilayered. The building as a whole should look good; so too should its individual pieces. Moreover, beauty should work on different levels: intellectually, emotionally and even sensually.

All that, I'm sure, sounds impressive, and for a while we were patting each other on the backs for our deep thoughts. Ultimately, though, the cliche proved right: Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Some on our short list looked unattractive to my eyes. Others I happened to like were greeted with a quick dismissal.

Still, few would deny the McKim building is beautiful. As one tours through, beginning at the magnificent entrance hall, up the grand staircase and into Bates Hall, there is a sense that each turn of a corridor reveals something even more magnificent than what preceded it. One feels overwhelmed, as if so much beauty should not exist in one place. The building is, in the words of one juror, transcendent.

Still, why give such an award to a building more than a hundred years old? The answer says something important, I think, about what we should value in urban design.

Boston has grown by accretion in the nearly 400 years since its founding. Those years have left it with a large trove of public and private buildings, roadways and open spaces. Many of these elements not only succeed on their own merits, but they also work collectively, creating an urban fabric that, at its best, nurtures commerce, art, learning and living.

All of this poses a challenge for today's urban architects. There are few empty spaces in cities, meaning new structures somehow need to mesh with those that surround them. Boston has had its share of successes and failures in that regard. Strikingly, examples of both are on display at the Public Library: the McKim building and the adjoining, much more recent Johnson building.

Both buildings are named after the men who designed them: Charles Follen McKim and Philip Johnson. But the newer building, an addition opened in 1972, is almost an antithesis of the original. It is ugly, not beautiful. Coarse and fortress-like, it stands out like a sore thumb along Boylston Street. With a stolid and plain interior, it may be functional but it is hardly uplifting.

The Johnson building, like other buildings such as City Hall and Charles River Park, points to an architectural future quite different from the McKim. Which direction does Boston take? Does it value its past or discard it? Does it tear down the old or spend the money to revive it? Does it value beauty or not?

This year's award of the Harleston Parker is an argument, in effect, that the future lies, in part, with the past. More than just a beautiful old building, the McKim is a vital part of Boston that, with its rehabilitation, is again central to the mission of the Library. The trustees of the Library and the city itself deserve enormous credit for understanding that history and beauty matter - and that both are worth paying for.