Our home renovation was the first project under my stamp. The second was this renovation at Building 1300.
It was built as a residential center the disabled. Fifty years later, it’s an administrative building. We removed two kitchens, freeing up space to become an indoor exercise activity space for the clients and a training room for the staff.
In school, we design majestic pretend structures. Sometimes we get to participate in marquee IRL projects — my wife worked on curtain wall details for an addition to an iconic museum and I’ve played a part on three university building projects.
But really, Architecture is a mundane practice.
We make incremental improvements to what’s around us. We get paid to make the world a little better.
Four years ago, I left private practice to become an Owner’s Project Manager for the State of Nevada.
I’m the ultimate middleman — I don’t deliver nothing. The Architect designs the project. The Contractor builds it. The Agency uses the facility to serve the public.
I just shepherd the team to deliver the project on time and on budget, hopefully at an optimal quality.
My tasks are unremarkable. Calculate estimates. Send emails. Meetings and phone calls. Double check drawings and dollar signs. I shuttle documents around our bureaucracy.
My position is five steps below the Governor on the org-chart, but it’s blessedly free from politics. The Citizens elect our Politicians. They determine our directives. The Division gets it done.
But nothing happens without people.
My big paradigm shift after taking this job was realizing that work is all about relationships. As a professional architect, I delivered tangible documents. Now, my only unique skill is familiarity with the government bureaucracy.
I’m here to balance the conflicting demands on a project, negotiate the cross incentives within the team, and chart a path through the process.
It’s not always daisies. On Friday night, I dropped the velvet hammer on a flooring manufacturer for delaying another project. It’s my duty to be fair and firm as a steward of taxpayer dollars.
I grasp the checkbook, but I work for those who do the real work. Construction isn’t easy, but I hope to make it satisfying. I try to conduct myself with honor and enable each team member to to do their best. I care about each of us, in our roles and as individuals.
This is our work. Let’s make the most of this precious opportunity.
Maybe even walk out with a smile.
This Kitchen Demolition project did not go smoothly. It started as an extensive renovation with a consultant architect, but the agency suddenly realized that the funding was about to expire.
With that nasty deadline, I could only deconstruct. I slammed demolition drawings on AutoCAD LT and pushed it out to bid. The contract was approved, signed by all parties.
Then COVID hit.
The Capitol feared we were at the precipice of a depression and killed this little project. (Of course, the cancellation dragged out amidst the pandemic confusion, leaving the contractor in limbo for more than a month.)
By Spring 2021, the looming depression became an economic rebound. The Agency revived the project.
The Contractor held their bid, we waded through a swamp of paperwork, moved the cash into the right budget account, and those kitchens disappeared!
We celebrated with a twelve pack of Dr. Peppers.
Construction is only straightforward after it’s done. Every project suffers its twists and turns.
We can plan, but only so much. When chaos hits, the universe forces us to negotiate. If we choose to collaborate, these frustrations can cultivate relationships beyond mere project roles.
June came and went this year. The twelve month warranty expired — the only part of our job without hiccups.
Wednesday morning, I returned a missed call.
His voice quivered.
Tracey passed away.
I thought you should know.
She really enjoyed working with you.
䷨䷆
one small project
client and contractor
respectnotice beyond this vale
greatest honor of my career
