Putting Out Fires

A long standing fixture in Craig’s office accoutrements is an oversized poster of Frank Lloyd Wright standing imperially amid the construction of the Guggenheim. Although near the end of his long life and his hair wispy and white underneath his porkpie hat his figure remains imposing. The photograph, in black and white, lends to the striking representation of architectural genius. I never liked this poster and its prominence in Craig’s workspace. My dislike has nothing to do with the genius. A print of one of Wright’s renderings of Fallingwater has lived harmoniously in my home for years. And I match Craig’s enthusiasm on our explorations of Wright’s Usonian houses. I did my duty to Wright. I read the Natural House. I watched the PBS documentary and poured over a number of biographies and architectural criticisms spanning his long career.
Am I allowed to draw a line?

Perhaps my dislike grew out of the transient nature of the poster. One day Frank Lloyd Wright glared from Craig’s drafting table. Another day he loomed above Craig, sunlight streaming around the edges like an illustration of a saint from a children’s book. Craig loved working under the scrutiny of Wright. He drove him, urged him to reflect on his own work and blocked the sun at key times in the office.

Wright resembles a disapproving uncle, smug as he is with the hat and cane obviously aware of his own genius and the certainty that no one will quite live up to the bar that he raised. I can hear his voice, the flippant remarks he made over the years to journalists, the condescension to everyone in his stare, the chagrinned smile. Could there be any one more severe than Wright’s intimidating presence in the office?

Perhaps not but his match now has a prominent position in the studio. James Montgomery Flagg’s forest ranger (think of his iconic Uncle Sam but with a full-length body and forest service uniform) points admonishingly at the blazing forest behind him but gazes intently out (at me). The poster’s message only underscores the ranger’s expression: Your Forests - YOUR FAULT – Your Loss! Added to the burden of being without genius of my own is the weight of human carelessness in regard to our natural resources and my uselessness in all of it.

Anyone who knows Craig also knows that he does nothing casually. He does not dabble. He dives in wholly and unequivocally. And his offspring, “Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.” (Pied Piper of Hamelin, Robert Browning)

Currently, under the tutelage of this piper-like parent, my children fanatically seek to prevent forest fires and work fervently to spread the message of fire safety to anyone who will listen. Of course, like their father, they must also look the part. Smokey the Bear tattoos gaze from offspring forearms and full-length miniatures peek, at times, from navel regions. Little Smokey the Bears dangle from key chains on school bags and stickers decorate notebooks warning of every individual’s culpability in forest fires. Even Rem peddles through parks with a cautionary bumper sticker on the back of his bike reminding other tikes that Smokey is counting on them.

Rangers in far-reaching offices around the region unknowingly send my family into a Mardi Gras- like frenzy when they hand Craig a few dated trinkets or a handful of bookmarks and stickers. Craig doles out loot to the new forest service spokespeople and spins tales told to him about the ins and outs of protecting and managing land. Unnoticed, I swipe a tiny Smokey flashlight/keychain and head upstairs.