Cruelty Fetish

Back during my architecting (private sector) days (1995-2006), I worked for a midsize firm in Jackson, and it was there where I eventually found myself somewhat under the tutelage of a semi-retired architect who'd been hired as the "quality control" man.  This elder statesman's job originally was to check construction documents for accuracy / coordination issues.  Simple as that.

He seemed kindly and adroit at first glance with his diminutive, pot-belly scale, false teeth & mop of silver hair neatly parted to one side.  Always wearing slacks, a dress shirt & tie, Mr. T, as he was quickly dubbed, had an appearance that did absolutely nothing to antagonize / draw concern.  Instead, he was the type of Medicare man figure who easily could've passed for either a charity hospital baby rocker or perhaps a clean-shaven, pretending-to-be-an-architect Saint Nick.  Approachable to a fault.  Shy, demure.  Meek?  Hardly.

As such, everyone (the vast majority of which were dramatically younger) couldn't help but appreciate him almost immediately.  I mean, what's not to like?

But I could smell doo doo even at our first juncture, and it really bothered me that others couldn't.

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I've done my fair share of therapeutic work centered around my parents (who hasn't within the Samson Society community?).  During my young adult years (1994), that was mainly centered around how the dynamics within their marriage / our youthful "triad" (I'm an only child) family impacted my development (or lack thereof) as a masculine man (my focus, back then was primarily internal).  Thankfully though, none of that work detailed one iota of cruel / hateful dealings (towards me nor anyone else).  That simply wasn't nor has ever been baked into my parents' modus operandi.  As such, they're many things but not that.

Nonetheless, my grandmother (on my father's side) could have been the poster child for cruel & hateful (particularly in the '60s), and she felt zero regret therein.  Similarly, my mother-in-law (& to a degree father-in-law) were situated within the same boat.

So what exactly am I referring to when I say cruel and hateful?

These are folks who relish watching others suffer.  Particularly others of their own race / creed / demographic, and suffering of the type that's public / semi-public.  But too, allowing themselves similar "fun" / satisfaction by turning their attention to the marginalized isn't out of the question.  Therefore, gossip, for folks like this, is like fine wine.  Hence, working (corporate / public sector), socializing (Country Club), churching (mega), even watching the nightly news (Cable TV) naturally reap multiple hits:  high earnings, esteem, ticket out of Hell, the latest juicy talk & prepackaged stories of the downtrodden. 

But beyond gossip, there's the cruely-fueled (versus curious) gawking, which typically must be done covertly if one's supposedly a good Christian.

All-in-all, envy may very well be what's motivating this particular dark heartedness but not necessarily.  Instead, perhaps it's simply a sick fetish.  

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What's truly noteworthy is one of Mr. T.'s daughters grew to become a superstar sports architect not too long after starting her own career in the same field (far & away from her humble origins in Mississippi).  Therefore, not only due to her gender but also due to her resilient relevancy within that space, I'm reminded (quite often, in fact) of her legendary ballpark / urban planning creative juices as they continue to further the notion of Americana (the great American pastime) whilst filling the pocketbooks of the team owners from one end of the country to the other. 

Having never had any interest in sports, I could care less about sports venues no matter the nostalgia factor / apple pie historical relevance.  And, arguably, most architects are in agreement with Rob that anything associated with the word "team" is an outright bore.  

But the public disagrees.  For sports arenas are akin to the representative cathedrals of yesteryear.

Nevertheless, just this week, my father slipped a copy of a features piece (that had no doubt come out of some recent periodical) detailing (yet again) Mr. T's infamous superstar sports architect daughter (she's in her mid to late 60s now), surmising the story, yet again, of her humble beginnings + origin story as the de facto baseball arena design consultant go-to on planet Earth.  

And yet again, my thoughts immediately turned back to what I remember of her father.  Vividly remember of her father.  And this is sad to admit to for she actually came to my aforementioned employer (adjacent to an end-of-the-year holiday) and gave a short presentation regarding her current stadium project.  

That's what I'd like to remember for that's what the press' appropriately celebratory work should be doing.

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Mr. T's office was adjacent to the "drafting room" (which is where I had a desk for 3-5 years of my tenure therein) within the firm we both worked for.  The space he'd been given to work wasn't large at all, but it did have enough room (barely) for a standard sized metal desk.  Within just a few years, every inch of said space was filled (including his desktop), almost halfway to the 8'-0" ceiling with "half-size" sets of "in progress" construction documents.  These sets were his to "redline".  This was his way of denoting errors that needed addressing.  

Mr. T's approach to quality control really had nothing to do with whoever's justification it was in hiring him.  Instead, it had everything to do with him justifying his own value as a golden year professional who'd really never made much of any mark on the profession nor the localized built environment (for whatever reason).  This was his private chip.

Architects are trained to be visionaries.  "Master builders" as they say.  Our entire pedagogy is constructed under the guise of enlightening society via our masterful (designed) control of the built environment, Renaissance man flair & (typically) high altitude liberal mindedness.  

Therefore, considering his training, Mr. T, could not help but turn his focus on us as his site / canvas.  I assume this was his attempt at a last hoorah within a perfectly imperfect (remember, we were quite young & inexperienced) petri dish of professionals (interns & otherwise) who were simply attempting to meet deadlines whilst placating clients / contractors along the way.

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And, of course, we're all cruel and hateful at times.  It's baked into our DNA as sinners, but there truly are some human beings that are deeply cruelty-averse.  

One of the favorite aspects of my parents is their revulsion therein.  I have to wonder if seeing my grandmother's ongoing / attituded cruelty somehow served to inoculate them both from her influence.