One of the architects in our office often uses the phrase “we went to school to learn how to design, not to teach” when it comes to bringing up the next generation of architects and designers. We’re not alone in our industry in tackling this issue, either—many different services encounter similar knowledge gaps. It applies even to our contractor partners.
Some of us more-seasoned folks sit here and scratch our heads because we came up through what we thought were the trenches of digging in and asking questions. No one TAUGHT us, we were TAUGHT by our mistakes, no one took the time to sit down with us and walk us through how to go about putting a drawing set together properly, writing a spec, making sure the weather and air barrier isn’t interrupted. Right? Right?
My mom dropped off a box with things from high school—a few piano certificates, some old report cards with nice comments from teachers, some old photos. One of the more unique things that stood out to me, however, was a letter from the year 2000 (cue Conan O’Brien’s “In the Year 2000” segment). I was a (cough cough) freshman (cough cough) in high school and had just been “accepted” into an Architectural Explorers program. By accepted, I mean I was able to spell the word “architecture” on a list of possible career interests.
The letter came on Spitznagel letterhead and was signed by two folks: Russell Shultz, AIA, and Rex Alan Hambrock, AIA. Together, these two helped introduce a young group of high schoolers from around the city to the profession of architecture, took us on tours of some “amazing” projects of the time like Avera’s corporate headquarters or the new chalet at Great Bear (am I dating myself enough yet? … sheesh).
Fast forward 26 years. I have the privilege to actually work with one Rex Alan Hambrock today at TSP, Inc. (the Spitznagel Partners). We both just celebrated milestone birthdays (different ones, mind you) and it dawned on me that Rex was younger than I am now when he signed up to take on assisting with this Architectural Explorers post.
While I’ve done a few stints talking about architecture at high schools, I couldn’t imagine taking a program on like that 6 or so years ago. Explorers really opened my eyes to the industry and helped kindle a growing interest in architecture. It took me another eight or so years to finally get on track there, but I eventually found my way. And it was because someone took the time to raise their hand.
And, I think, in a way, that is what mentorship is. Someone taking the time to raise their hand and show up. So while the debate may still be out regarding how my generation and those ahead of me learned what we know now (truth be told, Brad at VanDeWalle definitely had to sit me down more than a few times to help me learn some lessons), we are likely all here because someone raised their hand and showed up.
“Explorers really opened my eyes to the industry and helped kindle a growing interest in architecture. It took me another eight or so years to finally get on track there, but I eventually found my way. And it was because someone took the time to raise their hand.”
I reflect on this as I am about to embark on a new adventure this spring semester, teaching an introductory course at Augustana. I’m not necessarily doing it for money or even for notoriety. In fact, I’m probably completely unqualified to teach anything about architecture that most academic programs would think is valuable (says the imposter syndrome in me). I’m doing it because I raised my hand when someone expressed a need, and now I have to—want to—show up. While I may not be a mentor to all these students this semester, I will show up, and I will hope to inspire the next generation of architects and designers. It is the least I can do for those who have shown up for me.
Oh, by the way, that architect who uses that phrase I mentioned at the beginning? Rex Hambrock.
