Morning Thanks

Garrison Keillor once said we'd all be better off if we all started the day by giving thanks for just one thing. I'll try.

Friday, April 27, 2018

Small Wonder(s)--The Woodbury County Courthouse


It’s difficult to imagine that a few of the County Supervisors wouldn’t have gotten more than a little hot under the collar. It had to happen. Who was this easterner anyway, this artiste named William Steele, Architect, and who did he think we are, a bunch of rubes?

And what on earth did he mean to do in bringing in a brand new design, and so outlandish, a really strange looking thing, when the original, the one he brought in and we passed on, would have done us all--and the county to boot--just fine? Weird, too, strange-looking building, nothing at all like we expected. Gutsy of him. Pushy. Downright rrogant and radical, too. Seriously, you ever hear of such a thing? 

The Supervisors had to be rattled, some at least—and some even more than rattled. Some raised a stink until a couple of others calmed the waters and claimed they rather liked the new idea, appreciated that this courthouse wasn’t going to look like every other courthouse in the state—or the world, for that matter. “Ours is going to be great, boys,” Steele’s side must have argued.

What’s more, once local industries looked over the plans and saw some real dollar signs, they lined up for the new “radical” design Mr. Steele had brought to the board. After all, this strange-looking building would require some significant tonnage of local brick. The masons liked the new plans, liked it a lot. 


But then, on top of everything else, Mr. William L. Steele, architect, recruited a couple of hot shot buddies from St. Paul, old friends from some Chicago school known for its strange ideas. Man named George Grant Elmslie showed up, along with another gent who insisted on three names, William Gray Purcell. This thing was going to cost a fortune.

And it did. The Supervisors set down a budget with a bottom line of a half-million dollars, which translates into 12 million today. No, William L. Steele’s Woodbury County Courthouse, a prairie masterpiece, didn’t come in under budget. When the last bill was paid, the total was 850 thousand or somewhere close to 21 million today. Oops.

But what did we get? The Woodbury County Courthouse is the largest structure of Mr. Louis Sullivan’s “prairie school” architecture in the state or the country, a homemade American Midwest design idea to create buildings intended to slip into the structure’s own environs. All those flat lines, inside and outside the building, are meant to match the world of tall-grass prairie’s own long, flat lines, the shape of the land just outside of town. The Woodbury County Courthouse is an American beauty, unlike any other anywhere.
William L. Steele, architect, eventually left Woodbury County for greener pastures down in Omaha, where he continued his work. He didn’t stay with us here, or stay with his Woodbury County Courthouse, the building architectural experts, to a person, consider by far Steele’s greatest work, his masterpiece. 

From the buffalo up high on the east wall, to the eagle taking flight west; from jaw-dropping frieze sculptures, inside and out, masterwork that leaves you speechless; from the jaunty murals above the rotunda; from the fish tank to the multi-level jail, to that incredible dome with its gorgeous shower of multi-hued light—the Woodbury County Courthouse is still here, still ours, one hundred years later, still downtown, still breathtaking, still beautiful. 

Woodbury County has a unique home, a wonderfully serviceable courthouse that is also a breathtaking work of art. On top of that, right now, as we speak, it’s an entire century old—or young. 


Doubtless, there are not-so-nice reasons to visit to the Courthouse, but the first week of May, try something different. Head downtown, park somewhere on 7th or Douglas, stick a couple quarters into the meters, and look up, check out the great sculptures on the outer walls. Then walk in through the entrance on the north side and look around. Listen to the story. Take a tour—they’re available. Stop, look, and listen. Your courthouse, thanks to an artiste named William L. Steele, a few progressive supervisors, and an army of local workers, is a century old and still an amazing place.


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