Let’s start by agreeing on one thing: whatever else may be said about it, the Harold Washington Library Center looks like a library. It may be reactionary, it may be too massive for the street, and so on. But it is an impressive thing to see. Even those who dislike it for what it represents, and there are a lot of them, will probably take a certain guilty pleasure in it. Neoclassicism– or to be strictly accurate, cryptometaneoclassicism–is a lot like potato chips that way. As for its appropriateness . . . well, what the hell. “It’s a throwback,” one visitor commented at the open house a couple Sundays ago. “But then reading is a throwback.”
As for what the library will be like to use, as opposed to gawk at–well, it was hard to get much of an impression on opening day. Things were chaotic, what with malfunctioning elevators and escalators, missing equipment, and a computer catalog only a fraction of whose terminals were operational. Once things have had a chance to settle down a bit we expect to know better how to answer this question.
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For starters, there’s the matter of the glass curtain wall on the library’s fourth side, along Plymouth Court. It’s clearly intended as a nod to the modernists. But I thought most people would interpret it as corner-cutting, and the comments I’ve heard so far, including some from architects, suggest I was right. What is needed, perhaps, is a sign:
Another disappointment is the entrance lobby. Judging from the drawings I didn’t think it would be very impressive, and it’s not. If you enter via Congress Street, it’s almost drab. You approach the lobby down a long dim corridor painted gray. Only a few doors open off this corridor and there is little visual relief except for some fancy light fixtures high on the wall. Gazing at the ceiling in the faint hope of discovering some feature of interest you see a few splashes of paint and wonder whether this is a last-minute act of revenge by an unpaid contractor. On inspection, however, the splashes turn out to be some sort of art piece consisting of human figures–but so underscaled they look ridiculous.
Luckily, a library staffer has been stationed at this point to direct us around a corner to where another escalator has been ingeniously concealed. After ascending a couple more flights and snaking through various passages and checkpoints we arrive on the third floor, where the library properly begins. It is the damnedest scheme for entering a major public building I have ever seen. You feel as if you have snuck into a speakeasy.
The overall effect is graceful, I suppose. But I must say, traveling through nine floors of understated elegance can be a bit wearing. By the time you get to the upper reaches you long for a splash of color–maybe some golden arches or a Taco Bell sign. My advice is that we all wear loud clothing and funny hats as a precaution against sensory deprivation.
Of two things there can be no doubt: the library was named for the right guy, and built in the right place. I mentioned the quotations from Harold Washington in the lobby; they are genuinely moving. Setting aside his ethnic appropriateness, Harold was the most eloquent mayor we have had in a time when the power of the spoken word has largely been lost. It is fitting that his words are enshrined here.
