transportation, power plants, and so forth.”
They turned onto an unpaved lane that climbed through thick woods, until they passed through a notch between converging ridges into an open clearing. Directly before them, connected to one of the ridgelines, an immense, broad granite pillar rose sixty feet in the air. It looked as if giants had stacked colossal children’s blocks.
Spanning the top of the column was a jaw-dropping structure. Crafted from soaring lines of wood, stone, and steel, the building looked as if it had grown naturally out of the ageless geological formation below. The house seemed ultramodern and at the same time stark and primitive. Defying an identifiable style, its elements conspired to form a unique, inspiring, and powerful creation.
“Stone House,” said Will.
“No mystery about where it gets its name,” said McBride. “Connected to the earth. Reaching for the sky. Fair description of a headmaster’s job, isn’t it … and this is where he lives.”
STONE HOUSE
Will followed Dan McBride to the rock, past a steel staircase that curved around the column to the house above. They went under an arch carved in the rock and into a small foyer with an elevator. McBride pressed a button and the doors opened.
“This goes straight up through the boulders?” asked Will.
“Indeed. Our founder, Dr. Thomas Greenwood, was a great admirer of an architect named Frank Lloyd Wright. Have you heard that name before, Will?”
“I think so.”
McBride followed Will inside and the doors whispered shut. Dark wood and mirrored glass paneled the interior. A phrase was engraved above the door:
NO STREAM RISES HIGHER THAN ITS SOURCE
“That’s his saying. Wright opened a study center not far from here about a hundred years ago, called Taliesin. When Dr. Greenwood decided on this location, he consulted with Wright about Stone House. Nothing like it had ever been built in this country before. Like the Center itself.”
Will caught the scent of damp concrete as they rose through the heart of the rock. He could feel the solidity of the granite around them—protective, somehow, rather than claustrophobic. The doors opened and they stepped into a reception area with concrete walls. A friendly white-haired woman waited to welcome them. Her name tag read MRS. GILCHREST. McBride called her Hildy.
She led them into an adjoining great room. The dimensions of the space overpowered Will’s senses. Enormous rectangular windows rose up to an arched cathedral ceiling. Breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside—hills, valleys, a distant river—filled the windows on either side of the room. Clusters of solid, simple furniture hugged light hardwood floors. Vast tapestries hung on the walls, woven with what looked like Native American symbols and hieroglyphs. A stacked rock fireplace that climbed to the ceiling dominated the far wall, and a roaring fire blazed.
Lillian Robbins walked forward to greet them. She wore a black skirt and crisp white blouse, black leggings, and knee-high black boots. Her hair was down on her shoulders, longer and fuller than Will would have guessed. She gripped Will’s shoulders with both hands and gave him a searching look.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Another man entered from a door near the fireplace. He was tall and angular, with big hands and long, rangy arms. He wore brown corduroys, a battered shearling coat over a pale plaid shirt, and riding boots, weathered and muddied, like he’d just climbed off a horse.
“This is our headmaster, Dr. Rourke,” said Robbins.
He had an outdoorsman’s face, broad and tanned, and piercing blue eyes framed by a full head of tousled graying hair. Will guessed he was somewhere around fifty.
“Mr. West. Stephen Rourke.” His voice was deep and agreeable.
#16: ALWAYS LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE. GIVE THEM A HANDSHAKE THEY’LL REMEMBER.
They shook hands: Stephen
They turned onto an unpaved lane that climbed through thick woods, until they passed through a notch between converging ridges into an open clearing. Directly before them, connected to one of the ridgelines, an immense, broad granite pillar rose sixty feet in the air. It looked as if giants had stacked colossal children’s blocks.
Spanning the top of the column was a jaw-dropping structure. Crafted from soaring lines of wood, stone, and steel, the building looked as if it had grown naturally out of the ageless geological formation below. The house seemed ultramodern and at the same time stark and primitive. Defying an identifiable style, its elements conspired to form a unique, inspiring, and powerful creation.
“Stone House,” said Will.
“No mystery about where it gets its name,” said McBride. “Connected to the earth. Reaching for the sky. Fair description of a headmaster’s job, isn’t it … and this is where he lives.”
STONE HOUSE
Will followed Dan McBride to the rock, past a steel staircase that curved around the column to the house above. They went under an arch carved in the rock and into a small foyer with an elevator. McBride pressed a button and the doors opened.
“This goes straight up through the boulders?” asked Will.
“Indeed. Our founder, Dr. Thomas Greenwood, was a great admirer of an architect named Frank Lloyd Wright. Have you heard that name before, Will?”
“I think so.”
McBride followed Will inside and the doors whispered shut. Dark wood and mirrored glass paneled the interior. A phrase was engraved above the door:
NO STREAM RISES HIGHER THAN ITS SOURCE
“That’s his saying. Wright opened a study center not far from here about a hundred years ago, called Taliesin. When Dr. Greenwood decided on this location, he consulted with Wright about Stone House. Nothing like it had ever been built in this country before. Like the Center itself.”
Will caught the scent of damp concrete as they rose through the heart of the rock. He could feel the solidity of the granite around them—protective, somehow, rather than claustrophobic. The doors opened and they stepped into a reception area with concrete walls. A friendly white-haired woman waited to welcome them. Her name tag read MRS. GILCHREST. McBride called her Hildy.
She led them into an adjoining great room. The dimensions of the space overpowered Will’s senses. Enormous rectangular windows rose up to an arched cathedral ceiling. Breathtaking views of the surrounding countryside—hills, valleys, a distant river—filled the windows on either side of the room. Clusters of solid, simple furniture hugged light hardwood floors. Vast tapestries hung on the walls, woven with what looked like Native American symbols and hieroglyphs. A stacked rock fireplace that climbed to the ceiling dominated the far wall, and a roaring fire blazed.
Lillian Robbins walked forward to greet them. She wore a black skirt and crisp white blouse, black leggings, and knee-high black boots. Her hair was down on her shoulders, longer and fuller than Will would have guessed. She gripped Will’s shoulders with both hands and gave him a searching look.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Another man entered from a door near the fireplace. He was tall and angular, with big hands and long, rangy arms. He wore brown corduroys, a battered shearling coat over a pale plaid shirt, and riding boots, weathered and muddied, like he’d just climbed off a horse.
“This is our headmaster, Dr. Rourke,” said Robbins.
He had an outdoorsman’s face, broad and tanned, and piercing blue eyes framed by a full head of tousled graying hair. Will guessed he was somewhere around fifty.
“Mr. West. Stephen Rourke.” His voice was deep and agreeable.
#16: ALWAYS LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE. GIVE THEM A HANDSHAKE THEY’LL REMEMBER.
They shook hands: Stephen
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