I don't know how many persons who hate climbing there are in the world;
there must be, by and large, a great number. I'm one, I know that. But
whenever a building is erected for the use of the public, the
convenience of a non-climbing person is wholly ignored.
I refer, of course, to the debonair habit which architects have of never
designing an entrance that is easy to enter. Instead of leaving the
entrance on the street level so that a man can walk in, they perch it on
a flight of steps, so that no one can get in without climbing.
The architect's defense is, it looks better. Looks better to whom? To
architects, and possibly to tourists who never go in the building. It
doesn't look better to the old or the lame, I can tell you; nor to
people who are tired and have enough to do without climbing steps.
There are eminent scholars in universities, whose strength is taxed
daily, because they must daily climb a parapet to get to their studies.
Everywhere there are thousands of men and women who must work for a
living where some nonchalant architect has needlessly made their work
harder.
I admit there is a dignity and beauty in a long flight of steps. Let
them be used, then, around statues and monuments, where we don't have to
mount them. But why put them where they add, every day, to the exertions
of every one, and bar out some of the public completely? That's a
hard-hearted beauty.
Suppose that, in the eye of an architect, it made buildings more
beautiful to erect them on poles, as the lake dwellers did, ages back.
(It would be only a little more obsolete than putting them on top of
high steps.) Would the public meekly submit to this standard and shinny
up poles all their lives?
Let us take the situation of a citizen who is not a mountaineering
enthusiast. He can command every modern convenience in most of his ways.
But if he happens to need a book in the Public Library what does he
find? He finds that some architect has built the thing like a Greek
temple. It is mounted on a long flight of steps, because the Greeks were
all athletes. He tries the nearest university library. It has a flight
that's still longer. He says to himself (at least I do), "Very well,
then, I'll buy the damn book." He goes to the book-stores They haven't
it. It is out of stock, out of print. The only available copies are
those in the libraries, where they are supposed to be ready for every
one's use; and would be, too, but for the architects and their effete
barricades.
This very thing happened to me last winter. I needed a book. As I was
unable to climb into the Public Library, I asked one of my friends to
go. He was a young man whose legs had not yet been worn out and ruined
by architects. He reported that the book I wanted was on the reference
shelves, and could not be taken out. If I could get in, I could read it
all I wanted to, but not even the angels could bring it outside to me.
We went down there and took a look at the rampart which would have to be
mounted. That high wall of steps! I tried with his assistance to climb
them, but had to give up.
He said there was a side entrance. We went there, but there, too, we
found steps.
"After you once get inside, there is an elevator," the doorkeeper said.
Isn't that just like an architect! To make everything inside as perfect
as possible, and then keep you out!
There's a legend that a lame man once tried to get in the back way.
There are no steps there, hence pedestrians are not admitted. It's a
delivery entrance for trucks. So this man had himself delivered there in
a packing case, disguised as the Memoirs of Josephine, and let them haul
him all the way upstairs before he revealed he was not. But it seems
they turn those cases upside down and every which way in handling them,
and he had to be taken to the hospital. He said it was like going over
Niagara.
If there must be a test imposed on every one who enters a library, have
a brain test, and keep out all readers who are weak in the head. No
matter how good their legs are, if their brains aren't first-rate, keep
'em out. But, instead, we impose a leg test, every day of the year, on
all comers. We let in the brainless without any examination at all, and
shut out the most scholarly persons unless they have legs like an
antelope's.
If an explorer told us of some tribe that did this, we'd smile at their
ways, and think they had something to learn before they could call
themselves civilized.
There are especially lofty steps built around the Metropolitan Museum,
which either repel or tire out visitors before they get in. Of those who
do finally arrive at the doors, up on top, many never have enough
strength left to view the exhibits. They just rest in the vestibule
awhile, and go home, and collapse.
It is the same way with most of our churches, and half of our clubs.
Why, they are even beginning to build steps in front of our great
railway stations. Yes, that is what happens when railway men trust a
"good" architect. He designs something that will make it more difficult
for people to travel, and will discourage them and turn them back if
possible at the start of their journey. And all this is done in the name
of art. Why can't art be more practical?
There's one possible remedy:
No architect who had trouble with his own legs would be so
inconsiderate. His trouble is, unfortunately, at the other end. Very
well, break his legs. Whenever we citizens engage a new architect to put
up a building, let it be stipulated in the contract that the Board of
Aldermen shall break his legs first. The only objection I can think of
is that his legs would soon get well. In that case, elect some more
aldermen and break them again.