Rendering courtesy of Space Interiors
The tricky part’s the entrance. The architects want to soften the plain, hard lines of the 1930 Kroger Bakery building, make it welcoming to students and parents. And their client, Imagine Schools, wants its flagship charter school to capture the entire city’s imagination.
“We’re drawn to a tensile structure—stretched fabric, a soft material, not rigid, to soften the building,” says architect Tom Niemeier of Space Interiors. “Something that could be lit at night and be a beacon of light for the neighborhood, symbolic that this is a new life for the city.” He pulls out drawings, shows computer simulations. One of his colleagues jokingly holds up a wastebasket full of discarded tissue-paper sketches.
“Looks like you’re getting there,” Floyd Wilson, regional development director for Imagine Schools, says encouragingly. “You’re not there yet, but you’re getting there.”
Figuratively, the project is an entrance for Space, too—the first in what may be a long line of school designs. And for Imagine, which tiptoed into St. Louis two years ago after buying Chancellor Beacon Academies, it’s a trumpet-blast procession.
Founded in 2004 by millionaire Dennis Bakke, retired CEO of Applied Energy Services, and his wife, educator Lisa Bakke, Imagine is already running 39 charter schools in 11 states. It’s been a rocky start in several cities, including St. Louis—the company has been pilloried in the press for the sins of its predecessors, the sins of its employees and the sin of opening schools at a breakneck pace, one that leaves even the schools’ sponsors dizzy and wary.
Imagine sees itself as an oasis in the desert: a nonprofit company willing to offer choices in troubled urban school districts. Executive vice president Sam Howard envisions, over the next few years, three or four school clusters (three elementary schools and one high school in each) with special charters for legal, visual and performing arts, career, single-sex. Already open—and with waiting lists to enroll—are the St. Louis Charter School, at 5279 Fyler; the Ethel Hedgeman Lyle Academy, at 1509 Washington; and Lyle’s new companion middle and high school, at 706 Jefferson.
Space is working on an expansion of that high school, renovations of two future elementary schools and a complete conversion for what will be the flagship elementary school, a math and environmental-science school on Spring Avenue, near the new biotech corridor. The application for charter has been approved by the state, and Missouri Baptist University has agreed to sponsor the school. Ideas are flying.
By July, two months into the commission, Space’s architects are gleefully brainstorming the environmental-science and math school. Glass panels etched with Imagine’s educational values (integrity, justice, fun, parental involvement, academic achievement, character development) would diffuse light and project the right ideas. Columns could get progressively thinner on the second and third floors, demonstrating the physics of load-bearing. A little educational graffiti could explain scientific principles; exposed ductwork, electrical wiring and sprinkler systems could reveal the building’s inner workings. Best, solar panels on a “green” roof of grass and other vegetation could insulate, save energy and prevent cascades of rainwater runoff.
“We are definitely using that roof,” mutters Niemeier.
The first big client meeting goes beautifully, and the architects come away exultant: swift approvals, no layers of bureaucracy, no nitpicking about expenses. “It’s actually working the way you always knew it should,” says Space architect Derek Maschek. “We’ll be able to do what the St. Louis Public Schools have struggled with: give the kids air conditioning, proper lighting, colors that aren’t dark and dingy ...”
In late August, Wilson flies back to St. Louis, and Space invites landscape architects from SWT Design in to meet with him. The designers tack perspective drawings and aerial-view plans up on a long wall in Space’s Maplewood office, and everybody gathers in the narrow aisle in front of the wall.
They start with their favorite part of the design, the building’s roof. Maschek points to a viewing area, a little park, a sports court with a net (so balls won’t fly off the roof), class gardens, a pavilion that could be an outdoor classroom for sketching and science classes and maybe even a little revenue stream because it could be rented for evening parties.
“I want to share this with Dennis,” Wilson says, his voice a mix of caution and glee. “How high would that fence be?”
Niemeier emphasizes the barriers, how with walls and plantings no child will be able to get within 20 feet of the edge, how the roof’s safe from vandalism.
“We definitely want to do something on the roof,” says Wilson. “I don’t know if we want to get that extensive.” He chuckles. “I like that, though.”
“It’s getting a lot more out of the project than most people thought we could,” notes Jim Wolterman, co-founder of SWT Design.
“And from the highway you can see it,” adds Niemeier.
Wilson nods, intrigued in spite of himself. “Are you going to be able to get this on my virtual tour?” he asks, referring to the computer simulation they’re preparing. “Next week I’m going to D.C. to meet with Dennis.”
“What do you like about this, and what don’t you like?” asks Wolterman.
“The greenhouse,” Wilson replies. “We want to do something environmental. I don’t know if I want to get into a sports piece up there. I like the concept, but ...
it’s busy.”
“Is it that it looks like a lot of money?” asks Niemeier.
“The money’s not an issue,” Wilson says quickly, “but each school has a budget. Over time, my school has to pay that money back. My first thought, no, I’m not thinking money. It’s just ... it’s busy. I don’t know if I want that much activity up there.”
Maschek points out the revenue-making potential again.
“And to take parents up there ...” Niemeier adds.
“It’d be mind-blowing,” Wilson concedes, “especially for this community.”
Parents rank high in Imagine’s priorities; they sign a pact to take an active role in their children’s education. Wilson has asked for a room near the school’s entrance where parents can come to work with their children if they don’t have the technology at home.
“It’s common-sense thinking,” Howard says later by phone. “Children want to please their parents. If the parents didn’t have a successful experience in school and a child comes to them for help, we don’t want the parents to feel inept. We want to teach them what they need to know and make them feel comfortable.”
The architects turn to the old loading-dock area, which could have been throwaway space. They’ve planned an outdoor eating area and kindergarten play area, made safe with a 6-foot wall, but using metal or glass so it’s not a claustrophobic enclosure.
“This side faces south, and there’s no chance to get any shade without a strong vegetation buffer,” says Niemeier, “plus we have opportunities to throw in some gardening opportunities for students.”
Wilson nods. “Environmental math and science,” he says. “I like it!”
He steps away to take a cell-phone call; when he returns, they discuss the drop-off area, a festive plaza where kids can congregate. “We’re thinking of pulling out the drop-off area for the buses so we have a little more breathing room,” says Maschek.
“Technically, to be frank, buses are never lined up the way you have it illustrated here,” Wilson says. “Buses are always single-file.”
“Yeah, so we started thinking, why not pull the curb out, lengthen the space,” says Maschek.
Wilson nods: “You want to get as many in here as possible. Looks good. I like what I’m seein’.”
Wolterman quickly tacks up new sketches bright with perennials, greenery and whimsical signs. “We are trying to establish a sense of presence,” he begins. “As people come down Chouteau or Spring, they will know what the school is.” He shows photos of mosaics that can get parents and children involved; a giant butterfly turning gates fantastic; playground options, from the ubiquitous railroad ties to the bright European sculptural forms he prefers.
Next up, the education expert: Kendall Kroenlein, a sixth-grade teacher from Webster Groves. She’s been called in to give Space a little real-world perspective, show them how to make room for “the unexpected, which is what we deal with all the time.” She urges placement of faculty bathrooms and copy machines close to the classrooms (so teachers don’t have to leave their students for long), extra insulation in the music rooms (“It’s not music yet; it’s noise”) and closets in each classroom for supplies (“because if a lesson bombs, I have to switch gears in two minutes”).
Maschek jumps at the chance to shave a little storage space off the teachers’ office area and create more classrooms, but Wilson resists: “I like the concept of small closets in the classroom—the ladies may not want to leave their purses in their offices—but I don’t want to take away from the office space. I don’t want it to be so tight you’ve got three or four teachers in there and they can’t maneuver.”
Finally they return to the entrance.
“Here’s what we’re dealing with, and it’s rough and cold and looks like a factory,” says Niemeier, pointing to a photo of the building. “We need a blending of art and science so you have this regimented, systematic structure and then, when we get to the entry, an explosion of artistic creativity.” He points to different versions, origami works of fabric and rods and light that suggest a sail, a wave, a tree.
“Dennis loves light,” Wilson murmurs. They reach for another photo, a playful arrangement of light tubes. “I like that,” he says. “That’s different, and you could put the tarp—I’ll just call it the tarp—in between. I like that. Play with it.”
