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National Geographic : 2017 May
Contents
Early interactions between parent and child are sig- nificant in the development of narcissistic personality disorder. Too much adulation can backfire. A spoiled or “golden” child may develop a sense of entitlement, believing that he is better than everyone else. Wright’s feelings of entitlement and superiority in- fused every aspect of his behavior. Determined to pursue the architectural path he and his mother mapped out, he began taking classes at the University of Wisconsin– Madison but bridled at the rules of conventional schooling. In early 1887, the 19-year-old Wright moved to Chicago to look for a job. From the start, Wright showed contempt for other architects’ designs. The Palmer House looked like “an ugly old, old man whose wrinkles were all in the wrong place,” he wrote in his autobiography, and the Chicago Board of Trade, a “thin-chested, hard-faced, chamfered monstrosity.” As he worked his way up from apprentice to virtuoso, Wright ingratiated himself with people who could help him, then moved on when they had nothing left to offer. He developed a close relationship with his boss Louis Sullivan—Wright later referred to him as his lieber Meister, or beloved master—yet soon betrayed Sullivan’s trust. His contract explicitly forbade moonlighting, but Wright started building his own “bootleg” houses anyway, enraging Sullivan. A few months before his contract expired, “I threw my pencil down and walked out,” Wright recalled, “never to return.” Wright’s personal relationships were similarly frac- tured. Narcissists feed on admiration and expect it from those around them but often neglect to nurture close bonds. In fall of 1909, 42-year-old Wright abandoned his wife, Kitty, and his six children and set sail for Europe with Mamah Cheney, with whom he was having an affair. Wright left one night, his son John Lloyd Wright recalled in a memoir, and “didn’t even say goodbye.” He did, however, leave his family with something to remember him by: an unpaid $900 grocery bill. Throughout his professional career, Wright wor- shipped his aesthetic ideals above basic structural mishaps. Leaky roofs were practically an architectural insignia. The roof of the Johnson Wax building in Racine, Wisconsin, held up by 21-foot-tall columns, dripped so frequently that workers kept five-gallon buckets on their desks. Wright’s clients were expected to feel grateful to dwell in one of his rarefied structures, no matter the inconveniences—including the cost. Perpetually irre- sponsible with money, Wright lured in commissions with lowball estimates, then unabashedly upped the price. A church Wright promised for $60,000 rang in at more than $200,000. Fallingwater, the dramatic retreat perched on a 30-foot waterfall in Pennsylvania’s Allegheny Mountains, soared from $35,000 to $155,000. Although quick to spend, Wright was negligent about paying back. John, also an architect, signed on to work in Japan for his father with the promise of a paycheck, but it never materialized. When John raised the issue, his father looked at him reproachful- ly. “He then proceeded to figure what I had cost him all during my life, including obstetrics,” John wrote. After a client’s payment arrived, John deducted the amount he was owed. His father cabled him the next day: “You’re fired! Take the next ship home.” WRIGHT SPENT THE FINAL years of his life oversee- ing construction of the Guggenheim. He lived at the Plaza Hotel, where he decorated his suite with velvet curtains and gold wallpaper. A Saturday Review writ- er who interviewed him there in 1953 described the architect pacing about in a gray robe, beaded green slippers, and a colorful scarf. In a booming voice, Wright grandstanded about his favorite subjects—the poetic beauty of Japanese art, the debacle of American design, and his efforts to “wake my people up” to the fact that without worthy architecture, there would be no culture. “ They’d call that arrogance, wouldn’t they?” Wright quipped. “Well, I suppose it is.” Wright died on April 9, 1959, after suffering an in- testinal obstruction. He lived to be 91 but died just six months before the Guggenheim opened. The museum’s debut that fall was met with both acclamation and disdain. In a New Yorker review, Mumford extolled Wright as “one of the most richly endowed geniuses this country has produced” before skewering his design. “If the outside of the building says ‘Power,’” Mumford wrote, “the interior says ‘Ego’—an ego far deeper than the pool in which Narcissus too long gazed.” Marilyn Monroe “Mr. President, Marilyn Monroe.” With those words, the epic scene began. It was May 19, 1962, at Madison Square Garden. Actor Peter Lawford, John F. Kennedy’s brother-in-law, stood at a podium and extended his arm to welcome the actress, who had agreed to serenade the Wright’s clients were expected to feel grateful to dwell in one of his rarefied structures. He lured in commissions with lowball estimates, then upped the price. 150 national geographic • May 2017
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