Op-Ed Johnson Memorial is Brutal

Author: Colin Foss

Looking for a place to avoid the crowd during fall finals, I decided to head toward a strange light emanating from the top of the Johnson Memorial Building. I walked through the front doors, past the "1967" engraving, and found myself in a cavernous building with stairwells that smell like a public pool and the most confusing floor plan on campus. The walls were mostly concrete, with bits of student artwork hanging from anything that you could puncture with a nail. Things look imposing inside Johnson, but I would not be daunted. I kept going to find that quiet study gem.

The study room wasn't so great, but on my way there I got to see some of the more interesting architecture Middlebury has to offer. The concrete may be official, cold, and not accepting of stray light from the outside world, but there's something austere about it. They represent a trip back to the days when fancy columns were too frou-frou and the world was not looking so bright. "Brutalism" is an architectural movement from 1950 to 1970 that basically adopted the tenant that buildings shouldn't be warm or welcoming, but instead should reflect the bleak world view of architects disillusion by World War II. The symmetry of Johnson is notable: the faÁade is wrapped up neatly and packaged into a windowed shell. Nothing seems out-of-place or accidental, or implies a slip in the logic of the architect. Patience is what sculpted the stones. Method laid them out, and then someone forgot the finishing touches.

Boston's City Hall has some of the same problems as we do. A concrete monstrosity blackens the otherwise-jovial atmosphere of Government Center and dampens the mood of any public rally or parade that passes by. Little light is admitted into the inner chambers of City Hall, which leads some city officials to lament Brutalism's former popularity. They don't care about how bad the years were after the war, they just want somewhere nice to work. Who cares if it was voted sixth greatest building in American history according to the American Institute of Architects? It's oppressive, it's depressing and as an ugly municipal building, it wastes a central location in the metropolis where people would rather be shopping.

Tom Menino, mayor of Boston, has an idea that could be translated to Middlebury if it gains enough attention. He wants to tear down Boston's City Hall and reconstruct a new one in the port area.

No, Johnson should not be moved to Otter Creek though that would be picturesque, but maybe we could demolish this eyesore and build a phoenix in the ashes: something new, something like Bicentennial Hall, or Old Chapel. Yeah, something grey and depressing. Grey slate is timeless and instills a different kind of austerity than Johnson's blockishness: an austerity that Middlebury needs to make uniform and propagate. Menino and President Ronald D. Leibowitz need to get together during Leibowitz's open office hours and discuss for fifteen minutes the possibilities of a new, improved Johnson. I say fifteen minutes not because that's how long our president would allod the Boston mayor, but because Menino is in his last term in office and needs to get back to working on this important move. A relocation this dramatic would certainly create a name for Menino, who is currently running on lame-duck enthusiasm and a career some might call lackluster.

In short, architectural integrity needs to take a back seat to appearances. I personally am sick and tired of walking past and being depressed by Johnson and do not want to take the time to understand the floor plan enough not to get lost inside. Boston's City Hall is being relocated for much less pressing issues, so why hasn't the College jumped on the philistinic bandwagon and torn down that incongruous eyesore?

Colin Foss is a literary studies major from Rochester, N.H.. He lives in Allen Hall and walks past Johnson Memorial Building every morning.