Stoop, Balcony, Pilot House: Making It Right in the Lower Ninth Ward

In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, Brad Pitt’s Make It Right Foundation pledged to rebuild one of New Orleans’ poorest neighborhoods. Has it lived up to its name?

Left: Figure 1. Right: Figure 2. [Credit: All drawings and photographs by Tim Culvahouse; color by Ceara O’Leary]

The Make It Right houses are the most widely published and discussed rebuilding project in post-Katrina New Orleans. Their newsworthiness is unquestionable. The location, if comparisons can fairly be made, is the epicenter of the most dramatic of the catastrophic breaches of the city’s levee system, which devastated the Lower Ninth Ward, a neighborhood of low-income homeowners. The mastermind of the project is a celebrated actor; the architects are an intelligent group of both established and rising stars. By comparison with the official response to the desperate need for replacement housing, a good bit has actually been accomplished: people have homes, and a neighborhood is reforming. And the projects are interesting to look at.

Yet Make It Right is not without flaws. Besides the fundamental error of rebuilding in the Lower Ninth at all — an unfortunate, if understandable, consequence of dozens or hundreds of individual, emotion-led decisions — the houses reveal a raft of unrealized opportunities, the most fundamental of which are typological.

The notion of typology is one of the babies thrown out with the bathwater of postmodern historicism. Like many of the theoretical formulations of the last third of the 20th century, the concept of type suffered from difficult language and association with suspect agendas. But it is at base a straightforward idea: as programs of use and methods of construction are executed repeatedly over time, effective patterns emerge. These patterns optimize relationships among the innumerable considerations of architecture — structure, construction economy and the configuration of social space, most regularly; but also light and ventilation, symbolic representation and other factors.

Left: Figure 3. Right: Figure 4.

The idea of typology can be applied at any scale. For example, because they follow the high ground, the historic land-use patterns of New Orleans coincide with environmentally sustainable development patterns. Such was made starkly visible as the earliest settled neighborhoods of New Orleans — the Vieux Carre, Faubourg Marigny, the Esplanade Ridge, the American Sector (today’s CBD), the Garden District, Uptown — stood comfortably above the flooding from Katrina. A long-validated understanding of the environment is instantiated in these neighborhoods, which constitute a planning typology. [Figure 1]

Other, equally valuable understandings are embedded in the building typologies of the Crescent City. Particularly instructive for the Make It Right houses are three pervasive types — the Creole townhouse, the ubiquitous shotgun house, and the shotgun’s odd variant, the camelback. What light might these historic types shed on the Make It Right houses realized to date?

The most widely recognized house type in New Orleans is the shotgun, so-called because of the purported alignment of doors between rooms, arranged en filade without a corridor, allowing a miffed homeowner to fire a shotgun the length of the house without damaging the trim. [Figure 2] In fact, few shotgun houses sport such an alignment of openings. More typically, the door between the first two rooms is aligned with the front door, recalling the front parlor/dining room pairing of grander homes. Beyond the second room, the doors shift to the other side, indicating the beginning of the private zone of the house — bedrooms and bathroom. [Figure 3] The kitchen is exiled to the rear of the house, to isolate the heat of cooking from the living spaces in the pre-airconditioned, semi-tropical city. The shotgun shares this environmental logic with the foursquare, central hall mansions of early New Orleans, which relegated the kitchen to an ell extending behind the dining room. [Figure 4]

Left: Figure 5. Right: Figure 6.

The shotgun plan is clearly less than ideal, requiring guests to pass through the private rooms to reach the kitchen and adjoining back yard — the logical spot for the keg of beer and the tub of oysters — or else to squeeze along the three-foot side yard setback. Yet it has at least two brilliancies. One is that conjunction of kitchen and yard, located amid the lush vegetation of the center of the block, a world apart from the street in front. [Figure 5] The other is the front itself. Whether in the tiny, two- or three-tread entry stair of many French Quarter shotguns or the more generous front porch of those in less dense neighborhoods, the shotgun stoop, overhung by the elaborate, mail-order scrollwork of the eave, deftly shapes a space for the casual meeting of homeowner and passerby. [Figures 6, 7]

This configuration of social space is amplified and extended in the typical two-story houses of the city, such as the Creole townhouse, in which the stoop, sometimes elaborated as a columned gallery, is surmounted by a balcony. The stoop remains the space for individuals to meet and converse; the balcony affords a broader but less intimate reach, for which the emblematic exchanges are those between parade watchers and float riders or between breast-baring balcony partiers and their eager fans in the street below. [Figure 8]

The balcony also affords an instance of a characteristic pattern of social initiation in New Orleans. Imagine it’s Mardi Gras, and you are standing on St. Charles Avenue, along the route of the Rex parade. You step back a little, out of the crowd pressed up to the curb. Behind you and overhead, you hear laughter and loud talking, a party on the balcony of a house. One of the women on the balcony is wearing a University of Tennessee t-shirt, so you holler up, “What about them Lady Vols?!”

“Hey, Sugah,” she replies, “you fum Ten-nessee?” and, if you have any sense, you say, “Yes, ma’am.”

Left: Figure 7. Right: Figure 8.

One thing leads to another, and pretty soon someone comes down (probably her brother, and probably his name is something like Chalmers Rivington Maxwell, but he goes by “Butch”) and lets you in and brings you up a dark, curving stair, and there you are on the balcony yourself. All of a sudden you’re big friends and there’s plenty of beer and boiled shrimp. Your view of the parade is better, but, really, you’ve ended up not so far from where you began. As far as catching the beads tossed from the floats, what you’ve gained in altitude you’ve lost in distance.

The social gain, however, is dramatic, and along with the beer and shrimp you get gossip about the Rex krewe and the latest on the fortunes of whichever Louisiana politician is (like the shrimp) in hot water today. On top of that, you have become part of the spectacle yourself, one of the privileged ones on the balconies. The folks down on the sidewalk are hollering up to you, now, and while you’re still part of the audience for the parade, you’re equally part of the show. [Figure 9]

It is worth underscoring that the two zones — the almost ground-level stoop and the balcony above — are discrete from one another, allowing a clear hierarchy of convivial privilege.

It is also worth noting that the traditional house, whether shotgun or Creole townhouse, faces the street without inflection to either side. The door is positioned asymmetrically, as a matter of internal utility, but the façade overall is resolutely frontal and symmetrical. It apprehends the street to be a continuous thing, and it insists on being a part of that continuity, because it is out of the flow of passersby, casual or festive, that a glance begets a conversation.

Top: Figure 9. Bottom Left: Figure 10. Bottom Right: Figure 11.

Taking just this small set of typological patterns — the front stoop in intimate contact with the street, its space shaped by the scrolled overhang above; the balcony as a celebrated re-emergence of privileged social space into the wider streetscape; and the interconnection of kitchen to the out-of-doors — we might suggest a starting point for any housing endeavor that aspires to widespread deployment in New Orleans.

As designers, we might not only provide a set of steps close to the street — as most of the Make It Right models do of necessity — but we might shade and shape those steps to embrace a sense of meeting.

We might think of the street-front outdoor space of the second floor not as a porch continuous with those steps, merely lifted above the floodplain, but as a balcony, a discrete space of heightened experience entered from within the house. The house by Kieran Timberlake does so with appropriately Carnival-esque, if unrepeatably expensive, ornamentation; which, however, leaves the entry stairs looking rather neglected. [Figure 10] Its down-budgeted replication is probably an improvement. [Figure 11] Other houses separate the balcony from the entry stair, as well, but in many cases the balcony is not a full story up; some of the Make It Right houses are raised a full story above grade, but, apparently for budgetary reasons, others are raised only five feet, or as little as three — an unfortunate inconsistency, both urbanistically and aqueously.

The Kieran Timberlake house comes closest of any of the Make It Right houses to maintaining a continuous street front. Typically favoring three-quarter, magazine-cover views and contemporary formal flourishes, the houses value individuality over community. They will not form the coherent streets so beloved — and so highly functioning — in New Orleans.

Figure 12.

We also might engage more thoughtfully the relationship of the house — particularly of the kitchen — to the ground floor outdoor space, both at the rear of the lot and beneath those houses that are raised a full story. Many of the Make It Right houses locate the kitchen mid-house, between the public and private spaces of the house, which makes sense as a purely interior matter. But the loss of easy access from the kitchen does not bode well for the enjoyment of the backyard, when it has once again blossomed into that semi-domesticated wilderness discovered behind every civilized façade in the Crescent City.

Long-standing typologies embody accumulated insight, the individual elements of which may not readily be recognized, their originating logic obscured by time. The wisest course — this is my conviction — is to follow the type except where obvious flaws have emerged. The forced public passage through the private space of the shotgun is such a flaw; it prompts the conundrum of where best to place the kitchen in new transformations.

A counter-argument might be that so many things have changed since the introduction of the shotgun and the Creole townhouse that altogether new types are called for. And there is at least some potential for new types to emerge through the Make It Right process. While the Make It Right models, designed as they are by diverse architects, are highly distinct, each is to be repeated many times. In the process of repetition, the design architects, working with executive architect John C. Williams, are seeking increasing economy, so that the houses should become somewhat more affordable.

Putting, as it does, the chariot before the cart, this method may not, however, be the best for designing affordable homes. It would be more rigorous — and less likely to invite the compromises of “value engineering” — to require the architect to meet an affordable budget in the first place. But the more significant problem is that this process refines only material selection and construction method, not spatial configuration. And it is in the optimizing of social space, hand-in-hand with the method of construction, that enduring types emerge.

Left: Figure 13. Right: Figure 14.

Nevertheless, the Make It Right program has, remarkably, inspired what could become a powerful new house type: the model designed by David Adjaye. This deceptively simple-looking box on legs is surmounted by a roofed patio, which affords the experience of a panoramic view of this relentlessly flat city. [Figure 12]

Precedents for such views from private homes are exceedingly rare in New Orleans; I know of only two precursor types. One is the variant of the shotgun known as the camelback. Prompted by a (short-lived) property tax formula that set the tax rate based on the height of the building at or within a specified distance of the street front, people figured out that they could keep their taxes low by keeping their houses low within that distance, beyond which a second story would add no tax burden. [Figure 13] Typically, the hump of the camelback houses the master bedroom and bath, a simple but delightful aerie rising out of the lush landscape at the center of the block. [Figures 14, 15]

Left: Figure 15. Right: Figure 16.

The second instances qualify as a type not based on their prevalence — there are two of them — but on their clarity. These are the twin Doullot steamboat houses located on Egania Street, in the Lower Ninth Ward but close enough to the Mississippi to have been above the floodwaters. Built between 1905 and 1913 by a former riverboat captain for his daughter and son, they adopt the festive idiom of those craft, complete with wrap-around porches festooned with swags of wooden balls. At the top and center of each house is what is often referred to as a widow’s walk but is really more of a pilothouse — an elevated perch with views in all directions. [Figure 16]

Following the camelback and the steamboat houses, the Adjaye house advances a readily replicable approach to the elusive panoramic view in the City That Height Forgot. It meets the street no more successfully than many of its neighbors — at least not so far — but its rooftop is a typological gift. Such gifts are almost always discoveries from within the texture of the already given; to give generously, we first receive. (Le Corbusier: “Pleine main j’ai reçu, pleine main je donne.”)

Editors' Note

“Stoop, Balcony, Pilot House” is the first of a series by Tim Culvahouse. The next installment will look at the “the New Orleans corner store, and other neighborhood-serving retail.”

Tim Culvahouse, “Stoop, Balcony, Pilot House: Making It Right in the Lower Ninth Ward,” Places Journal, September 2010. Accessed 01 Jun 2023.

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Past Discussions View
  • Welsey

    10.01.2010 at 11:43

    Great article on what is going to be the American architectural effort of the next 50 years. Thank you.

    One thing I would like to note is that design in Figure 12 makes me feel locked out, uninvited. This is not something I ever felt in pre-Katrina Louisiana. Its a good design but seems more apt, like much of the architecture replacing the 1800's buildings in Minnesota where I live, by a California-style view of the world. Nothing wrong with it but its just not what I enjoy. I wouldn't visit N.O. too look at that either.

  • Philip J Bona

    10.01.2010 at 15:18

    Very valuable capturing of important design philosophies for urban streetscapes for N.O. and everywhere else. Stoops/eyes on the street/ walkability/ creating diverse people scale facades - all important. CNU and Form base codes are relevant too. This should all come together in a Universal Design context.

  • Douglas Wittnebel

    10.02.2010 at 14:29

    On my last visit to the Ninth Ward with my professor, Steve Jacobs, I was mystified by the area and the current phase if development. There were so many questions that I had about landscaping and the visible results of elevating the houses above the ground plain. Your article has certainly stimulated me to think more.


  • Christopher Thomas

    10.04.2010 at 15:52

    This is a wonderful taxonomy of the New Orleans response to the street, seen in the light of a new development. Understanding the social implications of architecture - let alone urbanism - is sorely missed in most publications, and I look forward to reading more in the forthcoming book.

  • Tom Fisher

    10.04.2010 at 16:40

    This is a great piece on building typologies in New Orleans, but were we to spend as much time on the urban typology of New Orleans - living in dense urban fabric on high ground and letting the low-lying areas remain as wetlands - many of the typological blunders so aptly pointed out here would not have happened. At the density of the French Quarter, the suburban quality of many of the Make It Right houses would - thankfully - not be possible.

  • Chuck Berg

    10.04.2010 at 20:44

    I, too, have been mystified by the Make It Right houses. They are so busy saying "Look at me! Look at me!" that they lose any connection with the fabric of the neighborhood, especially at the street level. There is no New Orleans front stoop. These houses don't relate to each other, except maybe in the eccentricity of their fly-away roof forms. Maybe this neighborhod is to be repopulated with imported families, rather than relocating the previous dwellers. Hopefully the new owners will be very skilled in the maintenance of sophisticated power and mechanical systems. There seems to be nothing simple about these houses, and they leave no place for the owners to leave their own mark. The lowly shotgun at least let one choose his colors and trim.

  • Ann Wimsatt

    10.05.2010 at 01:47

    Thanks for posting Tbob. Eisenman said its important to write about architecture and I applaud your blogs and essays.

    Taken together, I read the typology of the new New O houses as:

    'Ungainly Boxes on Top of Non-architectural Concrete Piers'

    Two things mystify me.

    1. Piers don't have to be the afterthought, see Corbusier's Carpenter Center as an example of powerful architectural piers.

    2. As the inventors of Google and Facebook and all the other amazing modern inventions of our time, why do Americans want to live in an approximated, Disney-esque version of the past? Such a modern age attended to by so much Faux. Pity that. Designing so much faux bored me to tears--and partly prompted a move overseas to places where they are genuinely exploring the modernism of our age.

    In his book, ' Dubai, an Urban Spectacle', Yasser Elsheshtawy brilliantly links Dubord's theory of 'spectacle' with the Disney-fication of current architecture--particularly American architecture.

  • Daniel Gregory

    10.07.2010 at 11:39

    A compelling read, Tim. I love the image of the "miffed homeowner" and the shotgun! Also the refreshing discussion of typologies and deftly sketched patterns of use for stoops and balconies, which create an image in my mind that is in fact clearer than what I see in the Make It Right house designs themselves. The clever reference to Corbu made me think about piloti -- but in New Orleans perhaps the machine a habiter is the machine a nager. Bravo.

  • Billy Fields

    10.08.2010 at 09:38

    While the typology discussion is well-articulated, the throw away line at the beginning on the merits of rebuilding in the Lower 9 bears much more scrutiny. Culvahouse argues that rebuilding the Lower 9 was " fundamental error". This exposes a deep lack of understanding of how risk can be managed in post-Katrina New Orleans. With the closing of MR-GO, a major source of storm surge has been eliminated. In addition, a large portion of the Lower 9 is actually above sea-level and actually higher than St Charles Ave. The juxtaposition of the line about the "fundamental mistake" of rebuilding the Lower 9 with an example of the white King of Carnival, Rex, and Uptown St Charles Ave image of New Orleans further underscores the rather ironic lack of social understanding embedded in this piece on context.

  • Peter Griffith

    10.11.2010 at 09:41

    The "typology" theme resonated with my personal homeowning experience. Culvahouse writes: "And it is in the optimizing of social space, hand-in-hand with the method of construction, that enduring types merge." Our 1913 Foursquare in a leafy neighborhood of Baltimore is one of the few whose original unmodified layout retains unique opportunities for social interaction and flow among street-porch-living-dining spaces.

  • Howard

    10.11.2010 at 19:46

    The oddity is that the diagrams depict the proper character (lovability) of the new buildings... but, the pictures of the new buildings are appear to completely miss the NOLA character boat.

  • Gray Dougherty

    10.12.2010 at 16:27

    The explanation of the Shotgun Typology is the best that I've read so far. I'd like to see plans of the various Make It Right houses highlighted. I'm sure that they're all very interesting and without them the essay is only reinforcing the "three-quarter, magazine-cover views and contemporary formal flourishes." Overall a great educational piece. I look forward to the next one!

  • Frank Ducote

    10.21.2010 at 12:44

    As one born too many years ago in a shotgun house in Treme, I found this overview and critique quite informative and compelling. The traditional residential typologies of New Orleans (used to?) foster one of the most enjoyable and complete senses of community I've ever experienced. It also helps me understand why I find many if not most of the so-called "Brad Pitt" models so ill-suited to this basic value of the Crescent City - the stoop and porch culture. Architecturally speaking, it seems to me that the houses that together make up New Orleans' working glass streetscapes were more about being neighbourly - and similar - than about being different, which is a uniquely "modernist" value. Further, the traditional low-level separation between the rear kitchen and the back yard for the crab boil or shrimp fry party is an essential functional relationship for family/friend gatherings. To put the kitchen elsewhere in the house or raised a full storey above the yard all but destroys this desired adjacency. Thank you.

  • Annie Ja Yeun Lee

    11.09.2010 at 01:54

    Thanks, Tim, for a very insightful and informative article on the subject. It amazes me how even the most basic design considerations can be missed by some of the buildings you've illustrated here. It just goes to show how disengaged today's designers are from the clients they serve. A professor at my alma mater stressed to us how we should always be designing as if we would be living in the worst spaces of our building, and I am wondering whether any of these designers ever considered that?

    I fear that post-disaster reconstruction sites are fast becoming an unregulated playing field for half-baked architectural afterthoughts. As Billy said earlier, it would be great to see the political dimensions of "value engineering" and what we could learn from this process so we do not shortchange the future generation?

    Looking forward to your next article! Cheers from NZ :)

  • John Massengale

    01.18.2011 at 15:33

    Very nice article. I worked in New Orleans after Katrina, and one thing that struck me strongly was the attachment of New Orleanians to their city, their neighborhoods and their architecture - all of which are unique in America (like their food and music).

    There has been some attempt (by architects, of course) to portray Shotgun Houses as "racist architecture." Nothing could be further from the truth. Shotguns were for anyone and everyone who wanted to live in New Orleans in style but on a budget low enough so that they could pursue dreams not found in their work. Shotguns were why New Orleans was the bohemian capital of the South. You could pay for them without getting a mortgage (often without even getting a legal title). That was life in New Orleans for many of all colors.

    Culvahouse discusses the architecture well, so let's ignore for a moment the anti-NOLA urbanism of the Make It Right houses. All their green technology is expensive, so the houses are expensive. And the high tech approach is so complicated that the houses come with technology managers - i.e., people who manage the technology for the owners. That's very different than the old minimal means that has been the New Orleans way.

  • M L " Mike " Waller

    01.18.2011 at 21:46

    Mr. John Montague Massengale III is entirely correct in his statement
    above concerning New Orleans and the silly " Make it Wrong " architecture, which is commendable as he is a hard core Yankee from New York -------:-)

  • Tony Stefan

    02.06.2011 at 09:39

    It seems like the core design problem is how to elevate the houses out of the flood plain (in compliance with flood plain regulations), while still maintaining life on the street level. The designs presented so far indicate that the stoop alone should achieve this goal. However, there is a latent potential of "in-out" circulation between the public sidewalk and the private dwelling that is achieved by the close proximity of these realms to one another in historic non-compliant structures. I really think you can't re-build this community life in compliant structures. You have to restore domestic space nearer to the level of the ground.

  • Gate Pratt

    02.08.2011 at 08:55

    There is a forgetten historic flat-roofed type from the spanish colonial period called an "Azotea". It is essentially a one or two story flat roofed creole cottage or townhouse. There is famously a remaining example on Dumaine Street in the French Quarter, and numerous others around that have been roofed over. The type was abandoned due to leaky roofs, but perhaps with modern roofing techniques this type could be revived. The roof space was used for outdoor living and socializing, and provides a nice model for urban living.

  • 05.08.2012 at 21:12

    I must weigh in along with Mr. Fields on the subject of rebuilding the Lower Ninth Ward. Since the levee breaches, 10.1 billion of your tax dollars have gone into the construction of a peripheral flood protection for the City of New Orleans. Given that over fifty percent of the population of this country live in counties protected by federal levees, none of them so recently or expensively constructed, the Lower Ninth Ward and the City of New Orleans may very well be one of the smartest places to build.

    Further, while I can't comment with any authority on architecture, be assured that there is plenty of rebuild work going on in the Lower Ninth Ward as well (that is to say the renovation of existing storm-damaged properties, many of them historical). The neighborhood can easily sustain both new, modern construction and this other (far less expensive) reconstruction. Percentage of residential properties in the Lower Ninth Ward rendered uninhabitable by the 2005 levee breaches, according to FEMA? 100%. Come build whatever you can raise the money to do - this neighborhood needs it, and the residents of pre-Katrina New Orleans - all of them - deserve to return home.

    Dozens or hundreds of individual, emotion-led decisions are nothing to sneeze at. Our neighborhood's got heart. Don't knock it.