Stories in Stone

by David B. Williams

  Folk and Chafetz’s shrub forests are visible at the Getty, too. The best way to see them is to take a seat on one of the numerous travertine benches scattered throughout the complex. Leftovers from past centuries of cutting at Tivoli, the rough blocks enthralled Richard Meier when he visited the quarries; he thought they would contrast well with the more formal, cut travertine. If you look at the sides of the benches, which were sliced in the traditional perpendicular-to-bedding manner, you can find many layers rich in year after year of shrubs. You can also see the shrubs in plane or top-down view on the walls: Look for broccoli- or cauliflower-type patterns.

  The seething environment at the mouth of the spring, as opposed to the quiet of shrub-generating pools, spawned egg- or pea-shaped balls, known as ooids or pisoids. They form as calcite gloms together in bands like a tightly packed snowball. Because the constant agitation knocks the calcite masses together, corners get removed, leaving behind the characteristic round balls. At the Getty they look like small mushroom caps.

  This diverse array of textures exemplifies an important geologic theme—depositional environments are always far more complex than how most geologists describe them. For example, I can make the simple observation that the Tivoli travertine formed in lakes and ponds, but in reality those bodies of water have an incredible diversity. Water temperature, depth, clarity, chemistry, and gas content all vary, as do daily and seasonal conditions, surrounding vegetation, and long-term climate changes.

  Out of this heterogeneous landscape came fossil leaves, honeycombs of gas bubbles, and a petrified wetland. No two panels are alike because no two parts of nature are alike. Rock excels as a building material because it bestows on buildings a complex beauty not found in materials such as glass, steel, concrete, or titanium. Each of these materials serves a specific purpose and can be beautiful in its own manner, but none prompts you to linger and look in detail. One metal Meier panel is just like the next metal Meier panel.

  Stone bewitches because it is alive—a living, breathing material that changes gracefully over time. The softer Salem Limestone erodes around its harder fossils, creating a display case for the holy trinity of the Mississippian. Lichen and mosses colonize brownstone and contrast with another late comer, a blue black patina of varnish. Coquina weathers to an ashy gray and acquires hanging gardens of grasses and flowers. And the Getty travertine has already changed, losing some of its beige and becoming whiter. None of the human-made materials has a vitality like stone.

  People further relate to rock as a building material because they intuitively sense the link between stone and the earth around them. Even if they can’t tell the difference between granite and marble, they know that building stone has a history and a story. No manufactured building material can provide the deep connection to place that stone does.

  Meier succeeded in his goal of connecting the Getty complex to the landscape, principally because of the rough-cut travertine. Similar to what happened at Robinson Jeffers’s wonderful Tor House and Hawk Tower, the stone gives the buildings an organic feel. Meandering through the grounds feels like walking on a rocky hillside, seeking out beautiful fossils, attractive textures, and strange shapes. A friend who works at the Getty says that whenever he has rock-climbing friends visit him they always want to put up climbing routes on the walls. (It’s a good thing I didn’t have my rock hammer.)

  You can, however, spend time rapping the panels with your knuckles. Los Angeles’ seismic history led to a decision to bolt each panel about three-eighths of an inch away from each surrounding panel and from its concrete backing. This allows the panels to move during an earthquake. It also met Meier’s contradictory goal of having stone that looks weighty and thick and is non-load-bearing.22 In addition, hanging the panels resulted in an unplanned aspect of the Getty—music. Each panel produces a tone when you rap it with your knuckles, and because the panels vary in thickness, each tone is distinct. No other building produces such music.

  Animals have also taken to the travertine. None has gone as far as the pigeons at the Castillo de San Marcos that started to eat the stone, but brown and blue speckled lizards regularly cruise the walls. In several areas, where the travertine touches the ground, holes contain the flotsam of insects and spiders.

  Travertine helps make the Getty complex more accessible. The size and layout of the buildings are daunting and confusing but the travertine brings the focus back to a human scale. The stone engages visitors and encourages them to slow down and look more carefully. And even to touch. On one of the docent-led tours, our guide showed us a panel with fossil leaves. They were dark brown from all the fingers that had stroked them.

  The Getty and the Colosseum share many similarities. Both were built on a scale to impress the visitor and dominate the site. Both required years of labor and hundreds of workers, although the Romans finished their project three years faster. Both now attract tourists by the busload, except at the Getty the tourists get a tram ride, too. Both are based on geometric shapes, the Getty on the square and the Colosseum on the arch, each repeated over and over again, giving the buildings their sight lines, their gravitas, their signature shapes.

  Ultimately, though, travertine is what unites the Getty and the Colosseum. Both needed the stone in order to succeed as buildings. The Getty really didn’t need it: Meier could have found another stone that would have allowed him to connect to place, but he needed the travertine aesthetically. The stone’s textures, fossils, and colors give his buildings life, and travertine’s Roman allusions connect the Getty to antiquity.

  The Colosseum had to have travertine, too. No other contemporary material would have worked as well structurally. Tuff was too weak to support great loads and lava too hard to cut into precise arches, columns, and capitals. The Romans had the ability to import granite and marble, but not on the scale or at the cost required for the Colosseum. They also had concrete and did use it for vaults, but it had a tendency to creep or deform under great loads. And the nascent brick industry was unable to provide enough bricks for the building.

  The Colosseum, the oldest building I visited, and the Getty, the newest, illustrate thematic end points central to the story of building stone. Builders started by exploiting their local geology and working with stone easy to carve and cut. They also considered whether and how the stone could provide structural support, especially with ambitious builders and architects, who wanted to build bigger and bigger. As time progressed, however, transportation replaced geology as a central driving force. Building decisions revolved around what a builder could get shipped to a building site. Good rail or boat service usually dictated this round of decision making. Finally down the road, money replaced transportation as the central part of the equation. The decision now revolves around how much money a builder is willing to shell out.

  These themes of geology, transportation, money, and fashion play out repeatedly across time and geography. They reveal the timeless power of building stone and how we have used and continue to use it to convey sentiments as pedestrian or as grand as we desire them to be. For as long as humans have sought shelter, we have used stone. It is as elemental to our lives as water and fire and allows us to mark our place in the world.

  From ancient Rome to Los Angeles to Mars, travertine exemplifies the complex stories of building stone. It is a symbol. It is history. It is science. It is a story in stone that one can see every day if we take the time to look, to ask questions, to wonder about the world around us.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like a conglomeratic rock, this book was assembled from many sources. One of the great pleasures in writing Stories in Stone was my interaction with geologists, historians, preservationists, and quarry owners and workers. They shared their passion, answered my endless questions, took me out in the field, and gave me samples. I will try to list all who helped but know I will inadvertently omit a few. I apologize for doing so. And, of course, any interpretations, errors, and opinions about their data are mine.

/>   For the chapter on brownstone, my field time in quarry,museum, and the streets of Brooklyn with Alex Barrett, Alison Guinness, Mike Meehan, and Steve Sauter was essential, fun, and eye opening. The chapter on the Quincy Granite was the first one I wrote. The support of Jim Skehan, Tom Mahlstedt, Dick Bailey, Vic Campbell, and Richard Naylor set the tone for the rest of the book; they were generous with their time and patient in responding to my questions. Aaron Yoshinobu’s fascination and passion for Robinson Jeffers, Tor House, and Hawk Tower were contagious and motivating. Dan Rea, Sarah Dodd, and Mark Gross of Cold Spring Granite Company went out of their way to help me see the Morton Gneiss and the Cold Spring mill. I also had helpful and numerous conversations on those ancient Minnesota rocks with Pat Bickford and Terry Boerboom: They helped clarify the science of this most challenging of stone.

  When I began work on the coquina chapter, I received a wonderful e-mail from Leslee Keys. She made me feel at home, far away from mine, especially with that ice-cold gin and tonic. Joe Brehm’s insightful tour of the Castillo de San Marcos made the fort and its history come to life. I also enjoyed a fascinating discussion and tour of the Florida Natural History Museum with Roger Portell. It is one of the best natural history museums I have seen.

  As a native of Kentucky, I had some hesitation in heading north into rival Hoosier territory, but I need not have. Jim Owens made sure I met the right people and saw the quarries and mills. Will Bybee and Andy Chaney graciously opened up their quarry and mill for me, and Todd Thompson and Brian Keith provided the details I needed on the geology of the Salem Limestone. Of all the people I met while working on this book, few gave me as much help as Ruby Wilde and Carolyn Peyton; they tracked down obscure documents, regaled me with stories of early Lamar, and, finally, when I got to town, drove me, fed me, and introduced me to everyone I needed to meet, especially Greg and Val Emick, without whom I would never have seen petrified wood in the field, and Dorothy Smith, who provided such a memorable connection to the little gas station of her youth.

  My dear friends John Horning and Terry Flanagan were great travel companions in Italy. From strolling to drinking wine to seeing endless rocks, they were enthusiastic, supportive, and fun. I was also lucky to spend an amazing day with Paolo Conti, whose knowledge of and driving ability in Carrara are unrivaled. And without John Logan, William Wallace, and Roy Kligfield sharing their knowledge of Carrara marble and Michelangelo, I would still be trying to understand what I saw there and what Michelangelo did with the stone.

  I think I talked to more people about slate than I did about any other stone. Three stand out for their patience, vast depth of knowledge, and enthusiasm: Laurel Grabel, Jack Epstein, and Jeri Jones.

  In Italy I was fortunate that Fabrizio Mariotti showed me his family mill and quarry. He also gave me my favorite rock. Eric Doehne and Michael Palladino helped me see the Getty on a human scale. Travertine has had a long history, both geologically and culturally, and what I know of it comes from Robert Folk and Marie Jackson. I was only able to tell the story of NASA and nannobacteria because of Chris Romanek.

  Many friends and family put me up and put up with me while I traveled. Thanks to Mike Buckley and Megan Kelso, Nancy and Ira Horowitz, Tim and Amy Johnson-Grass, Niki Lamberg and Adam Shyevitch, Bob and Carol Levine, Janet Protas, and Ruth Schneider.

  Several friends read chapters and made helpful suggestions: Megan Kelso, Jeff Moline, Andy Nettell, Scott Pierce, Jenny Schwarz, Peter Stekel, Scott and Muff Wanek, Irene Wanner, and David Weld. I appreciate their honesty and support.

  I interviewed and talked to dozens of people, some of whom appear and many who don’t appear in the book. All of those discussions and correspondence helped make up the conglomerate of this book. Thank you to Daniel Abrahamson, Tony Angell, David Barbeau, Kevin Barto, Jim Blachowicz, Amy Brier, Kathleen Burnham, Henry Chafetz, Kent Condie, Dennis Copeland, Steve Cummings, Karen D’Arcy, Kelly Dixon, Mihai Ducea, Peter Dryzewiecki, Bob Emick, Dale Enochs, Lori East, Clayton Fant, Tom Farrell, Tim Fisher, Bruce Fouke, Tom Gaston, Elspeth Gordon, Kirk Johnson, Doug Jones, Brenda Kirkland, Lynne Lancaster, Peter Le-Tourneau, David Leverington, Greg McHone, Doug McNeill, Virginia Miller, Paula Noble, Irvy Quitmyer, Emma Rainforth, Tony Randozzo, Mark Schmitz, Dale Setterholm, Jim Stagner, Kevin Stewart, Bly Straube, Basil Tikoff, Charles Tingley, Eleanor Toews, Alex Vardamis, and Kate Wellspring.

  When I first started to work on this book, I was lucky enough to team up with my agent, Brettne Bloom, whose help in molding my proposal was essential. Jackie Johnson was a patient, thoughtful, and insightful editor. She asked the right questions, found inconsistencies, and tightened my sometimes abstruse science.

  I also benefited from the support, enthusiasm, and guidance of Ivan and Carol Doig and David Laskin. I cannot thank you enough for the many years of friendship and inspiration.

  And finally, through many walks and talks, some tears, and lots of shots of tequila, I couldn’t have written this book without my wife, Marjorie Kittle, and her support, humor, love, and editing.

  GLOSSARY

  architrave Lowest of three parts of an entablature resting directly on a column.

  balustrade A row of slender upright posts, or columns, supporting a railing.

  batholith A large body (at least forty square miles in area) of magma that has cooled underground.

  bedding Layers or beds of rock; generally applies to sedimentary rock.

  boom A long beam extending out and usually up from the central pole of a derrick; used for guiding and supporting items.

  brownstone Sandstone that has a small percentage of iron that has oxidized and colored the rock red to brown. A building, generally a row house, built with brownstone.

  calcite A mineral made of calcium carbonate,CaCO3.

  Cambrian A period of geologic time from 542 to 488 million years ago.

  case-hardened To harden the outside surface. In quarrying this is usually done by letting a stone sit out, or season, for weeks to months.

  chert A very fine-grained sedimentary rock made of silica.

  conglomerate A sedimentary rock consisting of rounded sediments of varying sizes.

  console An ornamented bracket with parallel sides and often topped by a horizontal slab.

  Corinthian A type of column with an elaborate capital, often depicting acanthus leaves.

  cornice Projecting ornamental molding that crowns a building or other part of a building, such as an arch or wall.

  Cretaceous A period of geologic time from 145 to 65 million years ago.

  curtain wall A nonload-bearing wall built in front of a structure.

  cycad A group of seed-producing plants with stout trunks and large compound leaves; common in the Jurassic but now much less widespread.

  derrick A machine for moving heavy objects and often consisting of a mast with a boom attached at or near the base; supporting wires and pulleys allow movement of the boom. The name comes from a seventeenth-century hangman who plied his trade in London.

  diatom Microscopic, single-celled algae with cell walls made of silica; they live in fresh and saltwater.

  diorite A plutonic (magma cooled within the earth) rock richer in darker minerals than granite.

  Doric A column with a plain capital and no base.

  entablature The part of an order above the column and consisting of the architrave, frieze, and cornice.

  erratic A large boulder transported and deposited by a glacier.

  extension In geology this refers to spreading or pulling apart.

  fanlight A fan-shaped window above a doorway. Can also refer to any shaped window directly atop a door.

  Farallon Plate A very large oceanic plate that subducted under North America. Its remaining remnants are the Cocos, Rivera, and Juan de Fuca plates.

  feather A metal shim, often thin and curved, either slightly or at a right angle, at the top.

  floodplain Area where water spreads when a river floods. Over time the floodplain accumulates sedime
nt.

  foraminifera Single-celled, generally microscopic protists with shells. They evolved in the Cambrian and are still widespread in marine ecosystems.

  frieze A decorated or plain band on a wall below the cornice.

  gang saw A saw made of multiple thin slabs of metal, which cut through stone like a giant bread slicer; named for its gang of blades.

  garret A room or apartment in the uppermost or attic floor of a house.

  gneiss High-grade metamorphic rock often consisting of bands of dark and light minerals.

  Gondwana An ancient supercontinent, roughly 650 to 130 million years old, consisting of Antarctica,Africa, South America, India,Madagascar, and Australia. Also called Gondwanaland. The name refers to a region in India with extensive sedimentary rocks, originally used to characterize other parts of the supercontinent.

  graywacke A type of sandstone with mud and angular particles of quartz and feldspar.

  hood molding A projecting molding that blocks rain on a wall or over a window, door, or arch.

  hornblende A dark mineral common in igneous and metamorphic rocks.

  hot spot A stationary and localized region of heat in the upper mantle, which generates volcanic activity such as occurs in Hawaii and Yellowstone National Park; also called a mantle plume.

  igneous Rock that started as a liquid and solidified. Igneous rocks can be intrusive (plutonic) or extrusive (volcanic).

  impost The part of a pillar or column (usually molding) upon which an arch rests.

  interfinger Lateral intersecting of layers of different rock types.

  Ionic A column with a capital consisting of scrolls or volutes on either side of the column.

  keystone The central stone of an arch or rib.

  lathe A machine for turning or trimming stone and other substances. The stone is held horizontally and spins against the cutting blade.