Next Stop, W.G.

A particular set of prototypical structures which have always caught my eye are these series of bus stop shelters in Charleston, SC from the late 80s and early 90s. Each showing their age with flaking paint and rusty discoloration at the joints, its apparent that they have been around for several decades, and stand very humbly in an old city--every bit blending into the background of conventional life in this city under a somewhat anachronous cloak. Yet each corner being held down with this light looking-structure reveals an interesting facet of their design. This bolt-together assembly system is a kit of parts, ironically customized with a Charlestonian character to perpetuate the notion of centuries old  Charleson iron-working tradition, yet convenient for the modern city to add a signboard, or change the roof width from full size (butterfly roof cantilevered to both sides from a central spine) to a monoslope (half-width, cantilevered from one side), or even extend another bay to fit another series of benches. Essentially there are two parts to the equation: a set of standardized steel components, prefabricated and ready to be brought anywhere in the city, and a concrete floor slab, which is a mediator for varying ground conditions at varying locations throughout the city. Devised by W.G. Clark, it’s a complex and well-detailed assembly for a simplistic set of ideas.

As a continuation to some of the discussions last week, this ability to configure, or engage with the designed elements to meet specific site conditions that a municipal ground crew would encounter in setting up these bus shelters is, in a sense, a heightened sense of participation within the urban fabric of this city, albeit a highly constrained version because of the impositions of the designer which permeate through every level of the possible options. Regardless of the configurations on site, “like other elements of the Old City, these shelters are designed to become a Charleston artifact” (Clark, from A Practice of Making Places). 

 

Yet almost in spite of this sophisticated custom steel work, Clark intentionally left out the bench from his assembly, choosing instead to leave space open to receive Charleston's standard "battery" benches. A move which helps place these humble structures back in the public domain, ready to be occupied by those familiar with this, typically, unremarkable place to sit. In a sense, this last move helps grandfather in his contemporary design into a city which is typically stand-offish to such things.