By Joe Frey
Though separated by about a hundred years, the Rookery is just like 190 South LaSalle, right across the street. Both are speculative office buildings and the quality of design and materials exist for two reasons: to attract and retain high-end tenants. But unlike many buildings of the same era, the Rookery, built between 1885 and 1888, is still a sought-after address. A big reason why is John Wellborn Root and Daniel Burnham’s design.
It's hard not to feel a sense of strength and stability about the Rookery. It seems almost square — as long on the LaSalle Street elevation as it is tall. Rather than Sullivan’s tripartite of base, shaft and capital, the elements of the eleven-story façade are stacked and segmented, creating a more grounded than soaring effect. The red brick, granite and terra cotta of the exterior give the Rookery a richness that's in contrast to the elaborate, even delicate, ornament that is in glaring contrast to the same firm’s Monadnock Building. The polished columns at the base, the heavy corner piers and the rounded-edges of the window reveals emphasize the load-bearing walls of the LaSalle and Adams Steet elevations, which are echoed in the postmodern Harold Washington Library Center.
While the exterior communicated the message that the developers wanted to send, the name didn't. The Rookery is sited where a municipal building once stood: the Chicago Public Library was even temporarily housed in a water tank here after the fire, its first volumes donated by Queen Victoria. For whatever reason, that building was a popular bird roost and so known as the Rookery. As much as they tried to change the name of the new building, it stuck, and a playful reference to it can be seen in the crows—rooks—carved in the arch of the main entrance.

The interior is a study in contrast to the exterior. What is heavy and dark on the outside encloses a space that's light and airy on the inside: an almost feminine counterpoint to a masculine exterior. The plan is a hollow donut around a central shaft to provide light and ventilation to the interior-facing offices. This is hardly unique, but it's the execution of this basic formula that sets the Rookery apart. The walls of the shaft are clad in light glazed brick to reflect the light. But what we see today isn't the original interior, which has gone through various renovations through the years. When the building was completely restored in the 80s, it was decided to take it back only as far as 1905. That’s when Frank Lloyd Wright renovated the interior, and it’s a rare example of his commercial work of that era.
Those who have been in any of Wright’s Prairie Style houses might feel a sense of deja vu when they enter the Rookery: the low ceiling of the elevator lobby gives way to the great open space of the light court, providing the spatial drama that is the hallmark of his residential architecture. Playful reference is made to the building’s name again in the elevator door, part of another remodeling, designed by William Drummand, a former student of Wright. To provide an idea of what the lobby looked like before Wright's renovation, one side of a column’s marble cladding was left off to expose Burnham and Root's original, heavier designs.
(Technically, the 190 S. Lasalle building isn't across the street, it's diagonally opposite the Rookery. The building directly across from the Rookery was designed by the firm of Graham, Burnham and Co. But this is pedantry. The contrast between the two is stimulating.)
Another interesting contrast is between the 135 S. Lasalle building, formerly known as the Field Foundation building, dating from 1930, and by the firm of Graham, Anderson, Probst and White. 135 is an Art Deco masterpiece, and as Art Deco, celebrates the vertical and the machine-made. The Rookery almost seems like a piece of William Morris: it is exquisitely hand-made.
To stand and look simultaneously at the two buildings--the Rookery and the Field--is to see how in some 45 years American taste had gone from fear and rejection of the mass-produced and machine-made (even though that's what made Chicago rich) to an adoration of the machine is a wonderful historical lesson.