"Preeminently A Women's Century:" The Beauty and History Of Remote Architectural Studies

By Kate Reggev

2020 isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, turning out to be the year that anyone anticipated it would be. And I think that’s definitely the case for the thousands of students who returned to school this fall, including the students studying architecture — a subject that’s notorious for late nights cooped up in studio, one-on-one desk crits with studio professors, and hands-on learning through physical model making. I can only imagine (and, to an extent, witness with my own students in the Historic Preservation program at Columbia’s GSAPP) how disappointing and isolating it must be to spend a semester at home, learning remotely rather than being in the vibrant (if sometimes stressful) studio environment.

Kansas City Journal, November 21, 1925, Page 7

But sometimes I find it helpful to take a step back to gain some perspective, and more often than not I do this by looking back at history. As an architect who works primarily with existing and historic buildings (more on that over here), I spend a fair share of my time researching and imagining what life would have been like inside many of my projects when they were first constructed or over the years during their ongoing use. It’s a fun game I sometimes play in part to help me better understand a building and its intricacies and subtleties; it gives me insight into how things have changed (or not!) over time. But to be clear: I’m all about change and new interventions in existing buildings, and am well aware of how dangerous nostalgia can be and how very imperfect and often inequitable the past is, especially for people of color and women.

Hazel Wood Waterman, 1921, from Calisphere and the San Diego History Center

So when I heard back in March that many schools were going remote for the foreseeable future, I immediately thought of earlier versions of remote learning, in particular correspondence courses — the OG, if you will, of distance learning. It’s a model of learning that was popularized around the turn of the twentieth century, when more than one million people turned to individual study at home in order to complete coursework in a huge range of subjects, including architecture. As a result of the program’s popularity, well over 100 women were educated to work in the field of architecture between 1895 and 1910 — likely more students than all public or private colleges or universities in the United States put together during that time period (can I just say: Wow.). Thanks to architectural correspondence courses, some of these female architectural students became prolific architects in their regions, like Hazel Wood Waterman in San Diego, California and Nelle Peters in Kansas City, Missouri (there’s even two National Register Historic District named after her!).

But what were correspondence courses, exactly? Becoming relatively commonplace in the early twentieth century, they were a means of vocational training or education that emerged in the late nineteenth century. Many, like the International Correspondence School of Scranton, Pennsylvania (fans of The Office will know this small city well!) were started as a way to educate miners to become foremen; they then rapidly expanded to other subjects that ranged from basic algebra to architectural drawing, structural engineering to agricultural studies. 

To enroll in a course, a student would send for informational catalogs, and would sign up and pay for a selected course. They’d then receive a set of books usually consisting of a textbook and an accompanying workbook with design prompts or questions that they’d have to complete and then submit back to their school for review. If they scored 90 percent or better on a chapter, they would be mailed the next section until completion of the course and issuance of a certificate to show potential employers (and themselves!) that they had completed formal training.

The beauty of the correspondence course model was multifold: students could complete the courses on their own time, at their own pace, making it convenient for working or middle class mothers like Waterman, whose husband had died, leaving her to find a means of supporting herself and her children. Cost-wise, correspondence courses weren’t cheap, but they were affordable to most working class people who were able to save small amounts over time, which was aided by the ability to make payments for the courses in installments. Broadly speaking, correspondence courses were nothing short of revolutionary in their ability to bring education to remote and rural parts of the country that did not have the benefits of educational institutions like larger cities or the East and West Coasts possessed.

1905, Tom Hickey, Correspondence School copy of scholarship certificate

Architectural Drawing Course for Women Ad, 1895, May McLures advertisement

Importantly, correspondence schools also didn’t discriminate based on gender or race; in fact, some companies like the International Correspondence School even specifically advertised their architectural courses to women. The company described the 20th century as “preeminently a women’s century, ” (looking back, I guess I see what they were thinking?) and stated that “architecture offers splendid opportunities to women ambitious to become self-supporting” The school believed that “Any woman of artistic taste who is looking for a business or a profession suited to her sex should consider well the advantages offered by the school of architecture.” 

What’s more, the schools were also open to people of any race, ethnicity, or age, which was highly unusual at a time where most public spaces were explicitly or implicitly segregated and racism was rampant. The only requirement to completing a course was a high enough level of English to understand and express oneself. As a result, correspondence courses experienced a boom that took place simultaneously nation-wide while still in the comfort of a student’s own home.

So what happened after these hundreds of women completed their correspondence courses in architecture, according to student rosters that some of the schools kept and published? To be frank, it’s hard to know, and from the research that I’ve done (I presented on this topic back in 2018 at an annual conference at Virginia Tech’s International Archive of Women in Architecture), the results varied tremendously. Some women struggled to finish their courses and earn their certificates, perhaps discovering that they weren’t actually interested in architecture at all or that studying while working or taking care of a family was not feasible. Others, it appears based on census data, disappeared off the map, likely changing their name after they got married and, more often than not, leaving behind dreams of studying or working in the field. 

A good number of others, however, benefited from the correspondence courses as a stepping stone towards further study, like Anna Kechline, who enrolled in architectural drawing correspondence courses while still in high school. She then enrolled in Penn State College to study mechanical engineering, but left after a year to attend Cornell’s architecture program, from which she graduated in 1911 as the fifth female architecture student. In the following years, she filed six patents including a portable partition design, a fold-away bed for apartments, and an economical, efficient form of kitchen construction. Probably her most significant invention was the K-brick, a precursor to modern concrete blocks. If that weren’t enough, she also became the first female architect registered in the state of Pennsylvania in 1920 and was active in social causes including suffrage, low-income housing, and international affairs. 

Design for A Suburban House by Helena B McConnell, 1909, February, Architects' and Builders' Magazine.

For other women, architectural correspondence courses were their primary source of education. Helena B. McConnell, for example, successfully worked as a draftswoman at Holmboe & Lafferty, the most prominent and prolific architecture firm in the Clarksburg area at a time of massive industrial expansion in West Virginia. While little is known about McConnell’s role and work at the firm, it appears that she remained there for more than a decade, and was perhaps their only female employee. Through the 1920s and into the 1940s, she continued working as a draftswoman at various local gas and oil companies. McConnell passed away in 1959 at the age of 76, having worked as a draftswoman for nearly 40 years.

So what does all of this remote learning via correspondence and isolated study with books really amount to? Why should we care, and what does it have to do with the current environment? I’ll be honest: I don’t think that learning via mail-order correspondence courses is the way of the future (big surprise there, I’m sure!), and I don’t totally know how effective it was. Students had to be self-motivated, love to read and write on their own, and, importantly, have lots of patience for back-and-forth with teachers and reviewers — something that I think a lot of us lack these days (I personally cannot get over how slow my remote control for Netflix is, but that’s another story). But I do think it shines a light on is how education has long struggled to be equitable and accessible to a broad range of people, regardless of location — something that echoes what many students of all ages are experiencing when it comes to Internet access today. 

In the end, I think it’s clear that we’re all still trying to figure out the best way to learn, whether it’s on our own or in a studio setting; whether it’s by staring at a screen or with our noses buried deep in books. I can’t say whether one is better or more effective than the other, but I’m hopeful that we’re on the path to finding more open, adaptable solutions.