Atwood Chemistry Building: Architectural Codependency

Universities house the best and brightest of each sequential generation, cultivating students as a tangible academic institution. Particularly, a strong sense of codependency exists between a university’s physical, socio-political, and cultural contexts, namely the way a campus is “set into the landscape and interacts with and changes the surrounding community,” defines its character.   ^[1]    Successful integration of the university’s landscape and culture can lead to positive experiences and increase engagement between the institution and its users. In this biography of the Emory University Sanford S. Atwood Chemistry building, I will begin by tracing the development of American university campus plans, then will focus on how the Atwood Building is situated in the context of its institution, Emory University, and contributes to a co-dependent dynamic between goals of university progression and building construction, not unlike a puppeteer and its puppet.

A brief history of concrete campuses.

Campus planning of the average American university in the 1960s and 1970s was preoccupied with establishing academic and visual brands. During this time, concrete campus buildings were de rigueur, following a strict etiquette. As a result, the socio-political climate, with the counterculture movement pushing for more accessibility at universities, reveals the incentive for this ubiquitous construction of such buildings in bulk.   ^[2]    American society in the mid-twentieth century defined the university as a unique space in which more accessible education, in the form of community colleges and experimental universities, would foster change for social improvement and positive development. Thus, when designing such college campuses, the “distinctly American notion that college should be a total experience, not limited to the classroom” underscored why universities wanted their institutions to become more visually ubiquitous, as this structural uniformity across institutions would unify the integration of the college experience into all aspects of the American social context, even outside of direct academics.   ^[3]    Likewise, it is important to consider that universities are educational institutions that seek to establish a brand to entice prospective students and donors, and deliberate design choices impact campus growth, accessibility, and appeal of the institution.

The public drive to make education more accessible across the country in the 1960s and 1970s led to the growth of community colleges and experimental universities. Brutalism, with its simple (some might say dystopian) architectural language, highlighted the monumentality of this movement and was “a natural fit with its social implications, concepts, and the relative cheapness of concrete.”   ^[4]    Notably, the monumental Brutalist designs exhibited a sense of permanence that solidified this imagery of establishment and legacy; however, as the standard and goals for architecture on university campuses shifted, Brutalist buildings have consequently become notorious for standing out against the remainder of the institutional landscape. Therefore, as David Casteel notes, it is important to analyze “the college building as a distinctive building type [which is] inseparable from this concept of the college as a campus. A campus building can never be an ordinary problem, because it is part of a complex situation fraught with emotional significance”   ^[5]    Emory University, as an institution, likewise began the construction of Brutalist buildings in this period, such as the Sanford S. Atwood Chemistry Building in 1974, Goodrich C. White Hall in 1977, and Cannon Chapel in 1981, which remain standing today as aforementioned “monumental” structures that are visually jarring against the other relatively homogenized buildings of red roofs and marble exteriors on the Emory campus.   ^[6]   

To better situate the campus landscape at the time of the new chemistry building’s construction, the socio-political landscape and campus life of Emory as a whole during the 1970s must be considered. Following renowned Pittsburgh architect Henry Hornbostel’s initial campus planning in 1915, his vision for Emory University quickly collapsed as the plan for Emory's campus “fell victim to the whims of fashion and the demands of an increasingly complex institution,” a consequence that followed into the 1970s.   ^[7]    As the institution began pushing for more accreditation in the years that followed, especially after World War II, the primary users of the campus, the students, strongly opposed the university’s decisions regarding campus construction. There was strong student support to follow the trend of the Brutalist style on campus, with one student going so far as to argue that “by achieving one hundred per cent concrete (or, at least, all but some asphalt), Emory could aspire to be ranked in beauty and efficiency right along with the downtown areas of most of our major American cities.”   ^[8]    In 1971, Emory was recognized as the first major Southern institution to establish an African American studies program, generating another benefit for the university’s positive broader image and branding.   ^[9]   

Deliberately capitalizing on the university’s upward trend and good press, the institution chose to dedicate a new building to its well-recognized chemistry department while renovating the Old Chemistry Building, built in 1919 under the direction of Hornbostel. Callaway Memorial Center, the original physics and chemistry building, transitioned from its science roots to be renovated into a building dedicated to the arts and humanities as a result of concerns from the Emory Chemistry Department. This was a conditional feat largely successful due to the institution’s desire to highlight the department's prestige when it became incentivized from a corporate standpoint.   ^[10]    Plans for the renovation of Callaway started in January 1974 under the authority of Architect Robert B. Tippett, and by the following year, it was to be called the Humanities Building (Figures 1, 2). Following the trends of the time, the new building that became the Atwood Chemistry Building was built in this Brutalist style, constructed with board-form concrete, in an attempt to acknowledge the desires of the students and likely a choice to follow architectural trends of the time.

The design of the Atwood Chemistry Building stems from an understanding of the Emory Chemistry department as well as Emory as an institution relative to other universities. Archival evidence supports departmental concern for users of the chemistry building facilities. User safety and overall integrity were consistently brought to the higher administration to little avail. Four years prior to renovation plans, Orie E. Myers, Jr. wrote to business manager Robert E. Williams about maintenance of the chemistry building as “a losing battle” but one he would try to “keep operating as effectively and safely as possible for the next few years and until [they] can obtain a new facility” (Figure 3). In the same year, Leon Mandell wrote to Dr. Sanford S. Atwood, president of the university, about the unsustainable state of the chemistry department’s undergraduate courses and unsafe conditions of the laboratories, asking if “the University [will] provide for the survival of the Chemistry Department?” (Figure 4).

As a relatively young but celebrated department at the university, the chemistry department received funding from the National Science Foundation and recognition for the National Institute of Health award.   ^[11]    Similarly, “the Trytten Report showed that Emory ranked in the upper 5% of nationally-accredited universities in the fraction of its chemistry majors who went on to obtain Ph.D’s at other schools.”   ^[12]    Despite the external validation, the chemistry department was in dire need of financial assistance to maintain and renovate their facilities at a fundamental level of function.

Considerations and acknowledgment of functionality concerns at the old chemistry building were taken into consideration in the construction of the Atwood Chemistry Building that stands today. In addressing issues of laboratory safety and increasing student intake, “the new building [made] it possible for chemistry to design specialized laboratories for research and teaching purposes” that followed modern trends and expanded department ideals of scientific discovery.   ^[13]    The shortcomings of its predecessor, which included lack of accessibility, safety, and convenience, were corrected in the architectural layout of the new space. The new building took user experience and integration into the campus into consideration.

In a schematic plan of Atwood, the hierarchical spatial division and organization of the space are clearly defined and establish a subtle distinction between public and private spaces (Figure 5). In the program sketch, the floors are color-coded and divided into different areas by the type of chemistry practiced, contributing to a more instinctive understanding of spatial organization. With the second floor being the entrance level and the most utilized floor, the positioning of the lobby allows for easy access to each pathway within the plan due to the T-shaped design of the building as well as areas designated based on interaction level. For instance, the lecture hall, elevator, and classroom, more public spaces, are located centrally and are closer to the entrance, whereas the offices and balances are reserved for the back as more private spaces. The lower first-level floor plan is organized similarly in terms of classroom location. but because the floor is mostly populated by offices and smaller labs as private spaces, there is a much more compact use of the space, reminiscent of the office tower typology. Lastly, the upper third-level floor plan is similar to the lower floor plan in degree of compactness, with alternating labs and offices comprising most of the space. The higher-level administration is also on this upper floor, including the dean’s office and faculty conference room, which underscores the hierarchical nature of the design.

Likewise, the site plan, drawn by Robert and Company Associates on September 11, 1972, arranges Atwood purposefully, taking in the larger Emory campus design as well as the trends of the time (Figure 6). In terms of physical location, the plan and sketches position the new chemistry building in the center of the intersections between Dickey Drive, Arkwright Drive, and Pierce Drive, as well as in close proximity to the university administration building and two residence halls. The sketches of the typical sections within the building address the technicalities of building the space, such as considering precast inlets, flow, frames, and gutter relative to measurements of length, width, and depth; the shape of different parts of the building are also revealed in section.

As Emory’s architectural landscape has grown in the fifty years since Atwood’s completion, the location of the chemistry building still serves as a notable stop for campus tours, movie filming, and everyday classroom use. However, after enduring the weathering of time and change, the once beloved Brutalist Atwood is now described as an “unpolished concrete megastructure for chemistry study and research [which] rose like a weathered ruin, unrefined and as raw as the basic elements of the physical world studied by chemists within.”   ^[14]    (Figure 7).  Despite the architectural soundness, permanence, and versatility of the Brutalist style, the daunting, monumental tones of such buildings have strong negative connotations (Figure 8).

Conveniently, as a positive consequence of the generous $105 million donation from the Emily and Ernest Woodruff Fund, “the largest single gift to an educational institution in the nation’s history,” Emory began the process of homogenizing its campus architecture to create a visual brand and cohesive imagery on campus.   ^[15]    (Figure 9). Thus, in 2015, Cooper Carry and Associates addition design pushed Atwood’s image away from this concrete “bunker” through the installation of an atrium with a skylight, transparent staircase, and voyeuristic laboratory spaces as well as an external blending of concrete and glass to unify the existing and the new (Figures 10, 11). Rather than completely redesigning the building, the addition of a level of transparency successfully addresses the connotative issues of Brutalist buildings, and instead creates a hybrid space that encompasses departmental ideals of growth but also learning through records. To follow alongside the sentiment of collaboration within student experience, the renovated Atwood Chemistry Building aims to redefine its image through visual transparency and fluidity in its design that directly contrasts its concrete origins, reflecting the shift in social trends over time.

Rooted in a desire to be acknowledged and perceived as a desirable institution, design decisions by the Emory University administration have directly impacted the architectural landscape of the campus today, with newer buildings being homogenized with red roofs and white marble exteriors to fit the “Emory brand.” This co-dependent relationship between the external and internal affairs of the institution has a direct impact on the storytelling aspect of building construction, demolition, and renovation. With the example of Atwood, the modifications to the building have reshaped its perception to users into a more accessible and enjoyable space to study and work regardless of its remaining Brutalist design; this lack of opposition to the otherwise jarring contrast with the other buildings on Emory campus extends from how the space is utilized and by whom. This reframing of Atwood from a specialized space for Chemistry department users into an open-access place for collaboration, a fact always highlighted on campus tours, acknowledges an awareness of how to market the building and increase its appeal. While such a reframing may very well benefit the users of this space, we may also look at the motivations with some cynicism, understanding the symbiotic relationship between the building and the institution’s brand.

Alyssa Jang is a sophomore at Emory University majoring in Anthropology and Human Biology with a minor in architectural studies.

Keywords: Atwood Chemistry Building, campus architecture, Emory University, American universities, campus planning

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Alyssa Jang is a sophomore at Emory University majoring in Anthropology and Human Biology with a minor in architectural studies.

Atwood Chemistry Building, campus architecture, Emory University, American universities, campus planning